Vermicular Confusion
by Oparu
Summary: Crossover with Star Trek: The Next Generation. A shuttlecraft and a puddlejumper switch universes. Captain Picard and Dr Weir have to sort it all out. Sheppard/Weir, Crusher/Picard, Troi/Riker
1. Chapter 1

_USS Enterprise NCC 1701-D sector 914 Stardate 43928.7_

"Captain's Log: Stardate four three nine two eight point seven," Jean-Luc Picard began folding his hands neatly around his stone cup of Earl Grey. Usually content to accept whatever vessel the replicator saw fit to grace him with, he had take to using the cup because it reminded him of Sarek. The Ambassador would certainly raise an eyebrow at his sentimentality. The gift of the tea set, a replica of an ancient stone design used on Vulcan nearly three thousand years ago, was an act of illogical gratitude from the Ambassador Jean-Luc thought merited its use. Besides, he allowed himself with a small smile, the old cups had a pleasant weight to them, and kept his tea warm far longer than the usual glass cups.

If he was evaluating them simply for aesthetic value, the reddish stone was a nice contrast to the black glass of his table and Beverly had commented on how well the Ambassador knew his taste. After a moment of her thoughtful blue eyes studying him, she'd laughed softly and made it possible for him to join her. She'd been right, of course, Sarek knew Picard's taste in all things as intimately as he did. Perhaps better, he mused as the faint memory of Sarek's incredible passion for his wives ran down his spine like a drop of hot liquid metal.

Settling back in his chair with his tea, he stopped the computer and began again, this time with his mind more intent on his duty.

"—Point seven," he repeated himself. "Commander Riker, Lieutenant Commander Troi and Dr Crusher are spending a week as guest lecturers at the Haguarean Eight Institute." They are expected to rendezvous with us early tomorrow morning. In the time being, the Enterprise continues to collect and analyze data on the ion storm in sector nine one four. This type of ion storm has been associated with occurrences of parallel universe transgression, like that historically experience by our namesake. No incidences have been reported by any of the crew and I believe the data we're collecting will be a great addition to our knowledge of these phenomena."

Unable to decide if the slight disruption he felt to his routine was simply due to the absence of his crew members or another footprint of Sarek on his psyche. Insomnia was a rare affliction in his life and tonight sleep was as elusive as the nagging thought in the back of his mind. Blaming the Ambassador for both seemed unfair but Jean-Luc was unable to shake the idea that the ghost in his thoughts was somehow connected to his experience. What had Beverly said?

"I almost envy you," she'd admitted slyly over breakfast. Her long legs curled up in the chair beneath her as she stared past him at the starlines. "You've felt a level of emotion, a depth of feeling most of us, humans that is, will never be able to experience. However traumatic it was," she'd paused and reached for his hand lightly. "It was a glimpse into the unknown."

Was the unknown still with him? Jean-Luc wondered as he finished his tea. Moving his tongue slowly along the inside of his mouth, he licked his lips before placing the stone cup back in the replicator.

"Earl Grey-" pausing and correcting himself, Jean-Luc sighed and said, "Warm milk, Earth style, hot." Beverly's voice was almost in his head, approving his selection. Remembering he had the archeological results of the Haguerean dig site on one of their moons to read through, he lifted the padd and began to imagine light and music instead of columns, stone and dust.

* * *

_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, February 17th, 2005_

Aching from overuse, Dr Elizabeth Weir's hands lifted from the keyboard and protested as she stretched then. Her wrists and back joined in with her hands, protesting the amount of time she spent buried in her laptop. It was foolish, wasn't it? Filing reports that would never be read by anyone because they'd be trapped out in the Pegasus Galaxy far longer than anyone would be able to access her ancient laptop. Forcing those useless thoughts out of her head, she pushed back her chair and tried to decide what was really bothering her.

It wasn't just the Wraith, she'd faced down implacable enemies before, they weren't always the type who would drain the life-force from her body with the touch of their hands, but that aside, she'd known what it felt like to have death breathing down her neck. That felt cold, inevitable somehow but she wasn't cold—

She was annoyed.

Elizabeth nearly hit her forehead against the inside of the transporter when it occurred to her. She was still angry with John Sheppard. It didn't make sense. She'd been argued with, ignored, treated like a child and left out of important decision before and she'd usually managed to become rational. Reasoning and working through was the answer. John Sheppard wasn't worth her anger. He'd apologized. He'd even been incredibly thoughtful and polite in the last few briefings.

Maybe that wasn't the heart of the issue, Elizabeth mused to herself as she ran her hand over the back of her neck. Letting herself have the time it took to refill her coffee in the mess hall, she tried to decide just what it was about John's unkempt hair and insanely goofy smile that made her want to reach across her desk and just--

Her hand was on the handle of the stainless steel coffee pot when the alarms started to sound. Taking a second to remember which team was returning, she slammed her cup down in frustration. Of course there were alarms for John's team. Something would be wrong because John's team was returning. She didn't dare admit to anyone how much she worried that his luck would run out.

Buzzing in her ear, her earpiece made her heart skip when Sergeant Davis, he hated it when she called him Bobby, asked for a medical team. When Bobby started asking Carson to hurry, Elizabeth started to jog. Her military issue boots were finally starting to wear in enough to become comfortable and she made record time to the control room.

As soon as she rounded the last corner, Elizabeth felt her throat close down. She was swallowing and forcing it to open enough for her to speak when she realized the craft- ship- whatever she was supposed call it- sprawled on the deck in front of the 'gate wasn't one of theirs. Instead of the dark, textured metal shape of the puddle jumper, this ship was white metal, almost gleaming, as it lay crooked on the deck. It was very similar to a puddle jumper, perhaps that shape was simply the most practical.

The front window, she always wanted to call it a windshield even though she knew how foolish it was, was intact but at the bizarre angle the ship had landed at made it look pathetic instead of elegant. There was something dark smeared on the inside of the ship and her stomach started to knot up. The relief of knowing it was not John's team in danger faded when she realized someone inside the ship was bleeding.

"Can we get it open?" she called to Dr Zelenka as his team of blue clad scientists started to swarm around the ship.

"We think so," he replied quickly holding a stylus in his teeth as he tapped a short sequence into one of the wall panels. "The power signatures in this ship—" he shook his head. "Not Ancient, not Wraith, nothing we've ever seen, some kind of fusion reaction,--" his eyebrows shot up in amazement. "They have some kind of shielding technology and their weapons are vaguely familiar but there are systems on this ship I can't explain until we get it open."

Elizabeth waited a moment for him to come back around to the answer to her question.

"Yes, doctor," he corrected as he started running a few cables between Atlantis and the little ship.

"Elizabeth," Carson demanded as soon as she turned around. Crossing her arms over her chest she kept an eye on Zelenka's work as she nodded to him. "Elizabeth, the amount of blood pooling up on the glass…we need to get them out of there."

"Radek?" she prodded when she read the worry on Carson's face.

"Working on it," the scientist muttered back. "Our power technologies aren't compatible, some of the power is still intact but our computers—" he shook his head emphatically and sighed. "Our computers are woefully inadequate. The Ancient computers and this one would get long if only they understood each other. It's like trying to get a Russian and an American to write a treaty with only a two year old child to translate."

Elizabeth tightened her lips. "How long?"

"Hours?" Radek replied without looking up from the monitor. "Maybe less? Perhaps never."

Carson 's noise of concern was quick and desperate. When she met his eyes, he pointed at the bottom of the glass. What had looked like a dark red line down the glass had become a steadily growing rivulet of blood.

Sighing and bringing her hand back to the nape of her neck, Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest again and bit her lip before she turned to Radek. "Cutting torches?"

* * *

_USS Enterprise NCC 1701-D sector 914 Stardate 43928.7_

"When we arrived this craft was just, well, there," Geordi LaForge started to explain from his seat at the engineering console. "We didn't pick up anything unusual on long range sensors, we were tracking the _Montreal_ and then she was just gone and this ship was just, well, here."

"The _Montreal _is not responding to hails, captain," Worf added in a rumble.

Picard paced the deck down to his seat in the center and watched as Data brought up the mystery craft on the viewscreen. The ship that wasn't his shuttle hung maddeningly in space. Whatever propelled her had obviously been damaged and she listed in space like a old sailing vessel that had run aground and filled her hull with water.

He studied the deep grey metal and the strange design of what had to be her engines. "Life signs Data?"

The android's white hands flew quickly across the smooth panel beneath them. "Four life signs," he reported as he analyzed the vessel and the life signs simultaneously. "All human, all faint, sir. They have sustained serious injuries."

Jean-Luc wondered if his crew were trapped in a similar condition somewhere. "Is there anything in the Federation database about that model of shuttle?" he asked as curiosity plagued the back of his mind. "I don't recognize the design. Does she have a warp signature Geordi?"

"Nothing that the sensors have seen before," he reported with a slight shake of his head. "Some kind of strange power signature…almost like batteries. I'd love to get a look at it, sir." He finished sheepishly.

"Weapons?"

Worf's reply was measured and calm. "They have a small complement of what appear to be energy based-drones and minimal shielding. Both systems are currently dormant and pose no threat to the Enterprise, sir."

Data piped up with soft astonishment, at least his version of it, in his voice. "They also seem to be generating an electromagnetic signal on the radio waves.

"Radio waves?" he pondered. Tapping the comm panel in the arm of his chair, Jean-Luc had to remind himself not to automatically ask for Beverly. "Dr Selar, prepare to receive four human casualties of unknown origin. Mr. Worf?"

"Yes sir," the lieutenant left his console immediately and headed for the turbolift as a security officer stepped up to take his place. The doors hissed open and shut in the rear of the bridge. At his command, the blue tractor beam lanced out and captured the strange little ship, pulling it in to the shuttlebay to be examined. Geordi and Data left their stations as well, ready to put their minds to work on the mystery.

With their replacements surrounding him on the bridge, Jean-Luc tried not to see the empty space on the viewscreen as a continuous reminder that Beverly was somewhere else and the only clue was a ship that seemed to have quite literally come from nowhere.


	2. Chapter 2

"It says _Enterprise_ on the hull," Radek's voice was nearly reverent, like Rodney when he was looking at an amazing new piece of technology. "The _Enterprise_, not just _Enterprise_, but _Enterprise-D._ That's like –"

"Walking into a tomb and discovering the Pharaohs were real?" Elizabeth replied as she leaned over the railing into quarantine and watched Carson's medics treat the visitors. It was odd how small social conventions could be so similar across whatever void of time and space their craft had come from.

The man was in a red one-piece jumpsuit that seemed to be his uniform. He had soft brown hair, a full beard and a strong chin. Elizabeth thought she would like his eyes if they were open. Her own red uniform made her wonder if he was in command. The taller woman wore a blue version of the uniform, had long red hair and what Carson called 'a dancer's legs'. The shorter woman wore purple in a different style and her long black hair was still in near-perfect ringlets. They all had identical badges of some sort on their upper right chests. Carson had removed them to use the scanners and from above Elizabeth could see the little silver cluster of them on one of the tables.

"We found the activation panel for the rear hatch of their shuttle," Radek explained sheepishly. "Was not even locked."

Shaking her head, Elizabeth tapped her fingers anxiously on the railing. "I hope they're the forgiving type," she mused before turning her head to him. "And their ship? Any clues what happened to them? Why everything they have looks like it came from-"

"-Star Trek," Radek interrupted quickly. "We are either suffering from a mass delusion or Star Trek is merely an elaborate ruse, much like the American television program 'Wormhole Xtreme'. Someone must have encountered these people and fictionalized them."

"Sheppard has promised to subject me to it at some point," she offered and tried to stuff away the voice of panic that insisted she still didn't know where John and his team were.

"Extremely enjoyable," was Radek's concise review of the series. "We've made an inventory of their small weapons and technology. We can turn all of it on but their written language isn't familiar to us."

Elizabeth watched Carson step back from the injured man and allowed herself a sigh of relief. The man in the red uniform was most seriously injured; the blood on the inside of the shuttle was mostly his from a devastating head wound. Both women were still unconscious but their injuries were less severe. Carson had spent the last three hours with the man and even watching him take a step back was comforting. "I suppose it's nothing like Ancient either?" she hoped vainly.

Radek joined her sigh. "No, nothing similar. We will keep working on it."

"What can you tell about their vessel?" she asked hoping for some kind of break. Fate had to break at some point and deal them something that could help them. Everything could just keep coming up against them, could it?

* * *

"With one exception they were all armed with standard, early twenty-first century projectile weapons," Worf explained calmly as he gestured to the pile of armaments they had removed from their guests. All of them were still unconscious, but Dr Selar believed no lasting harm had been done to them. "This," he offered as he lifted the heavy sidearm that looked like it was half-disruptor half old Earth Magnum, "Is a primitive energy weapon similar to a Romulan disruptor. It has two settings, one lethal and one that would leave the target stunned. The larger male with the alternative hair style-"

"-Dreadlocks, mister Worf." Jean-Luc added for him.

"The pieces of metal around their necks-" Data added helpfully.

"-Dog tags," Geordi continued. "Identify them as a Major John Sheppard and a Dr Rodney McKay. We believe Dr McKay to be some kind of civilian consultant. Fibers in Major Sheppard's uniform place him in the early twenty-first century, before ceramics were routinely woven into Kevlar tack vests. Their ship is another story. Carbon dating insists the metal in the vessel is over fifty-thousand years old. It runs on advance vacuum energy batteries and appears to be short range."

"Scavenged technology and a rag-tag team?" Jean-Luc asked his officers thoughtfully. It was possible the lone military man was a renegade, some kind of mercenary who wore his dog tags out of some misplaced sense of belonging. ""Do they have warp capability?"

Geordi shook his head as Data simply answered no. "If they do, it's probably stolen or scavenged, like the ship. Whoever built that ship seems advanced enough to know what they are doing, but our guests seem to be a few hundred years behind their ship. One of them had a scanning device, like a primitive tricorder, but that is the same material as the ship and definitely not of their making. They still rely on electromagnetic radios for communication so I doubt they have knowledge of subspace."

While Jean-Luc processed that idea, wondering if he should formally contact his superiors before he had to decide if the Prime Directive didn't apply to thieves and borrowers. Perhaps they were just opportunistic, adaptable explorers, either way, he needed to decide how to treat them. "When can I speak to them?"

"Sickbay will contact the bridge as soon as they are awake," Selar promised levelly. "They passed through an energy barrier of great strength, it is taking their brains some time to readjust. The rest of their injuries seem to have some from an abrupt stop."

"The ship shows no sign of being fired on," Geordi volunteered as he looked across to Worf.

The burly Klingon nodded. "The shielding is undamaged, whatever phenomenon occurred happened before they had time to raise their shields."

"I concur," Selar said. "All of their injuries are consistent with a single, sharp impact, similar to a quick change in velocity."

Jean-Luc felt a surge of empathy for the people recovering in his sickbay. Mercenaries or not, it would certainly be unpleasant to wake up on a foreign vessel and discover their own scavenged was damaged. It could be stolen, he reminded himself, but for some reason he preferred to think these unlucky travelers were explorers. "Could they somehow have collided with the _Montreal _and our people?"

"It is theoretically possible than they came into contact with the same phenomenon," Data piped up with his constant quiet enthusiasm. "Tracing their course might give us a better idea what kind of subspace phenomenon caused their displacement."

Jean-Luc leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands as he stared out across the gleaming glass table. Even Dixon Hill wouldn't have taken the case of the missing shuttle, they were completely without clues and had been handed an entirely different mystery. "Anything else?" he wondered patiently.

"The female has trace DNA of another species," Dr Selar intoned, hands folded neatly on the glass table in front of her. "Some parts of her brain show a slightly different neural chemistry. It is possible she has limited telepathic or empathic ability. The large male, the one with the dreadlocks," she nodded almost imperceptively at Picard, "Is either an exceptional specimen of human genetics or also shares some trace DNA. The other men are simply human."

Jean-Luc's half smile met Dr Selar's raised eyebrow and he wondered if she'd intended as a joke. The Vulcan sense of humor was certainly as dry as the weather on their home planet.

* * *

Deanna Troi knew she wasn't on the _Enterprise_ and her heart sank further down towards her aching stomach. Even with her eyes still closed, she would have known the lights of sickbay through her eyelids. On the _Enterprise, _Beverly and Selar would have already mended what was wrong with her, and instead of pounding like the morning after Romulan ale. Sighing slightly, she debated letting herself sink back into the hazy stupor she'd arisen from. Perhaps when she woke up again she'd be out of wherever she was and back home.

Something dragged her back up towards the surface. Unfamiliar minds were around her and that uncertainty refused to let her sleep. There was a knot of efficiency and concern and she placed them quickly as a medical team. Regardless of the species, that compassion and competence seemed to be universal. There were far fewer minds here than on the _Enterprise_ and beyond that, something was different. It almost felt easier to read as if she was staring at a field of flowers and all of them were the same flower. Shaking her mind out of her pleasant hallucination of a field of Risian daisies, Deanna made herself focus.

She was surrounded by humans, most likely military, and the strategic organization of their minds was oddly familiar. Reaching out with more honed feelers, Deanna centered her search on the mind that was most burdened. Self-control, worry, logic and reserve ebbed from this mind like a river pouring out into the great ocean of thoughts. The river was turbulent, troubled by- she paused and tried to feel it out without pushing too hard. Her headache was already threatening to overwhelm her control and she needed to be able to trust herself as a source of information.

Something was missing. That thought was foremost in the mind she'd defined as leader. It wasn't their presence that troubled her, Deanna was sure the mind was female, she instead was concerned that something- someone- was absent. Misplaced. Lost because they were in that place.

Her shields were down when Will reached for her. The minds around her were comfortingly human and calming in their quiet rationale. She'd let down her guard to better reach the woman, the leader, the river of concern; that left her exposed. Will's desperate reach for her was like a ball of fire tearing through her field. In the green field of pleasant, human minds and the twisting river of the leader's protective thoughts, Will Riker's mind was a screaming blast of white-hot fury.

Without realizing it, Deanna gasped aloud. Subconsciously curling her fingers into fists in the sheets, they were too rough to be Starfleet issue, as she tried to calm him down. He didn't mean to project. He would have been sickly apologetic if he'd known, but his mind was in danger, afraid, damaged and since he was disconnected from his body, a psychic scream of horror was probably the best he could manage.

Suddenly instead of being pleasant, the field of strangers was dark and foreboding, the fears of the leader pounded like photon torpedoes in her mind. They were missing. They couldn't be found. Deanna's mind started to creep back into the relative safety of unconsciousness. She was tried. She could just sleep and wait for it all to go away.

"Deanna?" Beverly's voice was distant, like a whisper across a crowded room, but the sense of her was overwhelming. The blue-green, passionate, healing light of Beverly's soul eclipsed the field of strangers, blocked out the woman and her slowly growing concerns. Filling Deanna's mind with a sense of familiarity and urgency, Beverly was a lifeboat and Deanna clung to her.

Feeling her breath fill her chest and force her to concentrate on the grounding sensation of breathing, Deanna shuddered once. Opening her eyes was the next logical step. Beverly was over to the left slightly, leaning down over her bed with her hair tumbling irregularly over her face. Part of it was matted slightly to her head and Deanna slowly recognized blood.

"You're all right," Beverly promised as she squeezed her hand. Deanna could feel the crusting, flaking dried blood on her hands as Beverly touched her. "We got knocked around. You're pretty bruised but not seriously hurt. Can you hear me?"

"Will?" Deanna's voice sounded creaky, as if she'd left it out on a cool autumn night on Betazed. "Is he all right?"

Beverly leaned lower, clinging to the bed as if she needed the support to remain on her feet. "We've been rescued by humans, at least, they seem to be. Their technology is odd, some very advanced, some downright primitive. I haven't asked them for the medkit yet—"

"You're awake!" An unfamiliar voice complete with a strangely Scottish sounding accent joined Beverly's as Deanna tried to find him in the room. Sitting up let her survey her surroundings, even as the pain in her head blossomed into a blinding ache. "I was hoping I'd see one of both of you awake for breakfast."

As her eyes started to report what they saw more than a half meter away, Deanna matched the voice to a pleasant looking man with a round face and large, kind eyes. He was in a white lab coat and surgical scrubs; reminding her of a doctor she'd played once in a holonovel.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, but you should still be in bed love," the stranger insisted as he placed a gentle hand on Beverly's shoulder. The red head rolled her eyes ever so slightly.

"I've suffered no concussion," Beverly reminded him and Deanna suddenly got the idea that this was not the first argument she'd had with the stranger. "A little time on my feet might help speed my recovery."

"Right now you'd best be speeding yourself back to bed," the stranger ordered with a click of his tongue. "You may think I don't know how long you've been on your feet, but I was watching you missy, and the last thing you or I want is to see is your lovely eyes rolling up into your head."

Beverly didn't answer, instead she leaned all the closer to Deanna and whispered quickly; "Directive."

Licking dry lips as she tried to place Beverly's word with the sense of urgency she sensed in her friend. Directive? The answer slammed into her thoughts like a torpedo hit. Prime Directive. There were rules to be upheld, no matter where they had landed. Even though the dark grey medical chamber they were in seemed advanced, it was entirely possible their rescuers knew nothing of warp drive and were barely more advanced then the twenty-first century holonovel adventure where she'd worn the white lab coat.

"I'm glad to see you've come round," the Scottish sounding doctor offered as his hands went to the interface on the wall by her head. "You and your friend here were spared the worst of it but I'm afraid your husband's in pretty bad shape."

Deanna sat up further, propping her trembling self up on a more solid elbow. Beverly had returned to her bed, it seemed more like an old fashioned gurney than the more familiar biobeds in sickbay. The word husband jarred her. Deanna opened her mouth to correct him and immediately felt panic bubble up in Beverly's mind like a one of the mud pits her mother was so fond of.

"What happened to him?" she asked neutrally trying to decide why Beverly was so concerned.

"Skull fracture," he explained with concern soft in his voice. His hands were in his pockets and Deanna could feel the empathy for his patient radiate from him like in a rush of warmth. "Swelling of the cervical vertebrae, moderate blood loss from a scalp laceration. I think he'll be all right but it'll be serious for awhile yet."


	3. Chapter 3

Teyla had been planning to take the day off. Unlike her colleagues, John, Rodney and Ronon all barely seemed to need time to collect themselves at all, she was fond of actually taking a day or two and settling herself. She believed she worked better because of it. Chiding herself as she realized all three of them would probably take offense, she tried to relax back into sleep until she remembered what she had planned for the day.

It didn't feel like a day off, her mind wasn't ready to be centered and though she remembered having the urge, she didn't feel like she'd acted upon it yet. Was she headed out early? Teyla couldn't remember but she wondered if something was wrong. Her sleep felt out of sync, jarred for some reason as if she was just slightly out of phase.

Before she opened her eyes, she realized why she was unsettled. Even without really opening her eyes, the lights over her head were entirely unfamiliar. Not only that, but the sounds around her, the smells, even the feel of what was beneath her was wrong. That was why she wasn't sleeping, why she felt off. She didn't recognize the soft electronic sounds around her. It wasn't the technology of her Ancestors, she'd become accustomed to that. This was different but still highly technical. Someone moved alongside her and Teyla spent a moment trying to decide if she should tense and prepare to defend herself or relax and let her captors believe she was still asleep.

Part of her mind argued that she might not be in any danger; that whoever these highly technical people were they might actually be on her side. Teyla's experiences argued that her team was never that lucky.

"She appears to be awake," a soft female voice reported calmly. Teyla wondered how they knew, she hadn't moved or opened her eyes but the voice carried a degree of certainty.

"The bridge has been contacted," a deeper voice rumbled, male, off to her left. Whoever they were, they spoke the same dialect as the people from the SGC, the words seemed slightly accented, though she couldn't place the planet. "The captain is on his way."

Was the captain going to interrogate her? Teyla didn't feel any restraints but some captors didn't need them. Her slow contemplation of her surroundings was broken with a crash of something metal against the wall and she knew Ronon was awake.

Sitting up and opening her eyes in the same instant, Teyla watched as her vision came into sharp focus on Ronon being restrained by a woman. The same soft voice that had been above her a moment ago was now lower and more commanding as she addressed him.

"If you do not remain still, I will have you restrained," the voice threatened. She was tall, nearly John's height if he had been standing, and she had very black hair cut bluntly around a beautiful, angular face. Teyla paused when she realized that the woman's eyebrows made neat angles upward instead of curling around her eyes. A moment later, she saw the ears. The woman grappling with Ronon had huge, pointed ears.

"I am Dr Selar," the woman in the tight blue jumpsuit explained to an astonished Ronon, who's hands she held in a death grip. Teyla was certain if he struggled he would escape, but the pure shock of a woman as thin as Dr Selar restraining him with apparent ease had surprised him long enough for her to gain leverage.

"We mean you no harm," Selar continued with a level of calm that Teyla almost felt as a palpable thing. She reminded Teyla suddenly of her father on his days of deepest meditation. "You were injured and we treated you. You are not being held against your will."

Teyla couldn't help smiling as the doctor raised one of her strangely beautiful eyebrows at the irony of her own statement.

"I will release your arms if you do not attempt to injure me," Selar continued with the same supernatural calm.

"I can't promise that," Ronon growled as he tensed his arms and prepared to shake free. "Prove it," he challenged.

Selar released him and took a step back. Ronon paused, still stunned and stared at her. His eyes were wide and focused on something near Teyla's feet. She followed her gaze and landed on him.

She was certain he was the owner of the deep, rumbling voice, though she was entirely surprised he spoke any language she could understand. He was easily Ronon's height, perhaps taller, and though he wore the same jumpsuit as Selar, just in gold, the rest of his similarity to her stopped there. Instead of Selar's pointed ears, he had a heavy, ridged forehead that climbed all the way up his skull. His teeth were pointed and his body was muscular and as dangerous as the weapon he held in his hand.

The small handheld weapon was of an entirely unfamiliar design but Teyla had no doubt, from the way he held it in a huge, dark hand, that it was a weapon of some force.

"You have not been harmed," the deep voice rumbled from the man with the skull, "Yet."

The threat was something Ronon instantly understood. Rubbing his wrists as if that would somehow explain to him how she had been able to hold him. Ronon and the man in gold stared each other down like great beasts realizing they were not alone in their habitat. Teyla was reminded suddenly of the lions she'd seen on videos of Earth, both coiled and ready to spring if the other made a threatening motion.

The door in the wall hissed open and Teyla and Ronon both startled. She'd almost thought it was part of the wall, the door was so smooth, but a man in a red jumpsuit, older, completely bald and seeming as human as John or Rodney entered the room. There was no doubt he was in charge, both the doctor, the austere Selar, and the dark, hulking man with the metal sash who hadn't yet said his name, moved imperceptively back as if giving him the best space in the room.

"I apologize if your presence here is unnerving," he began in a pleasant tone. "As I'm sure my crew has explained, we mean you no harm," he moved his hands to demonstrate his open palms. "Even the weapon pointed at you is non-lethal," he assured Ronon, who couldn't seem to decide who he wanted to glare at more, the large man with the weapon or the doctor who had restrained him. "Lieutenant Worf is only concerned with the doctor's and my safety and is not threatening you."

"We understand," Teyla spoke for Ronon when her friend only bared his teeth. "I am Teyla and this is Ronon. Our compantions are Dr Rodney McKay and Colonel John Sheppard. I an Athosian, Ronon is Satedan." The leader nodded politely but neither planet meant anything to him. Wondering which was more important, hiding the existence of Atlantis or the existence of Earth, Teyla decided the bald leader deserved the truth.

"Sheppard and McKay are from Earth," she explained as she slipped from the bed and stood in front of the leader.

"Earth?" the leader repeated with a small smile. "I am also from Earth," he volunteered as if explaining his sudden amusement.

"John is from a place called America," Teyla ventured. "He also calls it the united States. Rodney comes from a superior nation called Canada."

"I suppose there are many arguments to be made about the superiority of either," the leader nodded graciously as he spoke. "I am from France."

"Wine is from France," Ronon grunted as he followed Teyla's lead on stepped up so his chest was level with the weapon in Worf's hand.

"That's right," the leader agreed with a wider smile. He exended his hand towards Teyla and kept his grin. "My family actually owns a vineyard. Please, allow me to welcome you to my ship, I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard and you are aboard the _Enterprise."_

Teyla shook his hand and appreciated the quiet strength she felt there.

"This is Dr Selar," Picard explained with a slight incline of his head. When Teyla followed his gaze with a questioning look he smiled again and offered. "She is Vulcan. Lieutenant Worf is my head of security, his people are called Klingons."

"I believe your ship must be very safe," Teyla offered with an approving look at Worf. The Klingon's glare softened for a moment before her attention was drawn back to Picard.

"We found your vessel floating adrift," he explained calmly dismissing Worf's weapon with a glance of his deeply intelligent eyes. The Klingon lowered his weapon but kept his gaze firmly on Ronon. "You and your friends--"

"We are a team," Teyla explained politely when he paused.

"Your team," Picard continued amenably, "Were all injured, we brought you here to treat you and my crew is attempting to repair your vessel.

Teyla paused for a moment, sinking the words 'Klingon', 'Vulcan' and Enterprise into her mind in case they became important. "We are on a ship?" she asked when it occured to her she could not feel the deck moving beneath her feet. On the Daedelus, she had always been able to feel the vibration of that ship's engines.

"Yes," Picard explained again with endearing patience. "The Enterprise is a very fine ship, if you allow me the boast. Would you like to see it?"

Ronon's sudden movement in her direction made Picard smile slightly again. There was a warmth in his Teyla's instincts begged her to trust. "Ronon is welcome to join us."

"John and Rodney?" Teyla asked as she moved her eyes towards the 'Vulcan', Dr Selar.

"They are completed healed and resting," the doctor reported as she tilted her head towards them. "You are welcome to observe their condition." Her hand gestured at a bank of lights on the wall. Teyla did not understand the words and symbols but she recognized that the triangles were a gentle shade of yellow, harsh colors seemed to mean danger, and that Rodney and John were both quietly asleep.

"They will contact me when your team awakens," Picard promised and Teyla nodded. Torn between protecting her and the unconscious, Ronon hesitated.

Worf cleared his throat. The gesture surprised Teyla because it nearly seemed out of place coming from the imposing figure. "Sir, perhaps Ronon would appreciate a different tour," the hulking officer suggested.

Still amused, Picard took a moment and then nodded. "Very thoughtful of you," he agreed dryly.

"Yes, sir," Worf replied as he gestured towards the door.

"Where's my weapon?" Ronon demanded of Picard before the leader could active the door.

"In cargo bay two," Picard answered lightly. He took a step forward and Teyla waited for him to activate the door with his hand, as the doors worked on Atlantis. Instead, this door simply opened, as if it had seen them coming.

Startled again, she stopped. Picard gestured to the left. "Cargo bay two is that way," he said. "I'm sure Worf can take you to check on your weapon. I assure you, it is not necessary aboard my ship."

Teyla was inclined to agree with him. Crew members passed them in a long, seemingly endless hallway. The walls were soft beige and filled with more panels of lights. It seemed everywhere she looked on the _Enterprise, _there were more lights, and it struck her how extraordinary this ship might be. Unlike Atlantis, dormant for eons and just starting to come to life, this _Enterprise _was in the prime of her existence, run by the very people who had built her.

"You have not encountered the Wraith," Teyla stated simply as she watched Picard's crew pass her. Very few of them were armed, and the ones who were wore gold uniforms, like Worf. Falling in step behind Picard, she tried not to let her mouth fall open as she watched the variation of crew that passed her. Some of them were blue skinned, some were scaly and one family seemed to be entirely covered in dark brown fur.

"The Wraith?" Picard asked politely. "No, I'm afraid of never heard of that species." A group of children, mostly human but some no species that she could recognize, ran pass them, giggling and not bothering to hide the way they stared at the captain. Their teacher was another Vulcan, like Selar, but he had dark skin, more like Worf's or Ronon's. The ears still distracted her as he walked by.

"You have children on your ship?" Teyla asked, surprised. She'd thought the _Enterprise _would be more like the other human military organizations she knew. The SGC did not have children. She assumed Atlantis would not be allowed to have families either but here on the _Enterprise, _children ran freely in the corridors.

"We have many civilians on this ship," Picard answered patiently. "The _Enterprise _is one of Starfleet's finest achievements, a ship where crew members need not be separated from their familes to serve in the fleet."

"Starfleet," Teyla repeated as she followed Picard into a small space, like the transporters on Atlantis, and waited for him to touch the controls. Surprising her again, he simply spoke to the space.

"Ten forward," Picard requested. The space made a pleasant sound and began to move, humming as it carried them through his ship. "Earth, my Earth," he corrected carefully, "Is part of a vast network of worlds and cultures called the United Federation of Planets."

Thnking she might understand, Teyla followed him into a new corridor and nodded. "Are you a trading organization?"

"We share ideas and technology," Picard answered. A gentle smile remained on his face and Teyla realized she found his company quite enjoyable. "Many years ago, actual trade for currency was all but abolished on many worlds. We, along with dozens of other races, view exploration and the pursuit of knowledge as our highest calling."

"You live in an extraordinary world," she breathed as she tired to imagine real exploration as the mission of great ships. "I have traveled all of my life and I have never encountered anyone who could spend their resources on a ship for exploration."

"I am frequently reminded of that fact," Picard replied as he led her towards two wood and glass doors. Compared to the simple grey doors found elsewhere on the ship, these doors were surprisingly ornate. Teyla lingered watching a man with a heavy blue line down his face converse with another Vulcan.

"Come," he suggested. "I believe you'll enjoy this."

* * *

Beverly Crusher had a splitting headache. It was the kind that burrowed into the back of her head and lingered there, as if part of her brain had been scooped out and replaced with pain. Lying in the quarantined room in the strange outpost that held her, she could keep a running inventory of all the parts of her that ached. Her left shoulder had suffered some kind of impact and moving her arm to far in either direction sent a searing pain across to the back of her neck. She couldn't remember the impact. She wasn't even sure there had been an impact with a solid object but the evidence of their injuries suggested something had been enough to overwhelm the inertial dampeners. What it had been really wasn't her department.

Deanna seemed to be in slightly better shape physically. In the few moments of conversation they'd shared, she'd been able to gather that Deanna had few injuries. However, the counselor was distracted. At first, she'd thought Deanna might be sharing her headache, but from the way Deanna's eyes never left Will, it was obvious he was having some kind of effect on her. Beverly had never really understood what the relationship between Will and Deanna was but she'd seen the kind of power it had.

She hoped Deanna understood why she had lied to about Will. As far as she could tell, their rescuers were primitive humans with twentieth century technology. Their surgical techniques certainly seemed historic. Even though the room they were kept in was more advanced, these humans were still using metal scalpels and vacuum drainage. Shuddering when she imagined subjecting Will to that barbaric kind of medicine, she forced herself back up to a sitting position.

"Doctor?" she called when the doctor wasn't in her field of vision.

"He's speaking with someone called Dr Weir," Deanna explained from Will's side. "She called him on his radio."

Closing the distance between her bed and Will's, Beverly appeared to stumble, letting Deanna catch her and bring her to lean on Will's bed. "The guard?" she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

"Bored," Deanna replied in a whisper. "He wishes his shift was over."

Beverly sighed and let Deanna guide her into the chair she'd been sitting in. "Thank you," she said in a more normal tone. "Beckett?" she whispered as Deanna reached past her for a plastic pitcher of water and a cup.

"Concern for Will, caring, dedication—" Deana nodded slowly. "He's trustworthy."

Beverly accepted the water and spoke carefully around the rim of the cup. "Can you get a reading on anyone else?"

"Military personnel, human, focused on their duties," Deanna reported and Beverly let herself breathe a sigh of relief. "Some of the less disciplined minds might be scientists, engineers, traders. No more than a hundred."

Setting her water aside, she reached down to make sure Will's temperature was still normal. Moving a lock of hair off of his forehead, she felt only a slightly increase. "Any threats?" she asked softly.

When Deanna sighed, Beverly raised her eyes. The circles under Deanna's eyes were dark against her ivory skin. Wondering if her friend had slept at all in the last few hours, Beverly reached for her hand.

"I can't get a clear feeling. I—" Deanna broke off and bit her lip as she rubbed her temples. "He's blocking me. He- Will- doesn't know where he is, he's half-conscious. He's panicked, afraid and he's asking for help the only way he can. Why did you—"

Interrupting with a squeeze of her hand, Beverly whispered. "This is twentieth century Earth, some kind of military outpost. They might split us up, make decisions for us, if Will is your husband—"

Deanna's nod was quick. "Will he be all right?"

Beverly wrapped her fingers around Deanna's and tried to look more optimistic than she felt. "I'm going to ask Beckett to bring me the medkit from the shuttle," she explained as she felt the strength of Deanna's grip increase in response.

"Their leader is concerned, worried—" Deanna began to pull everything she could from her senses. "It's not our presence but the absence of someone else. We were not supposed to arrive when we did. Someone else, someone important to her, is missing."

Soaking that in, Beverly tried not to let the knot of guilt in her stomach make her palms any more damp with nervous sweat. Revealing their technology, even medical technology, was walking a thin line through a grey area of the Prime Directive. Trying to justify it to herself, Beverly looked down at Will's unnaturally pale skin and the primitive rubber line caring blood into his veins and reminded herself she was doing the right thing. Will Riker wasn't a plague that was changing the course of planetary development, he was her friend and he was in danger. She had a responsibility as a doctor to save him from a barbaric surgery he would be lucky to survive intact.

"Glad to see you up and about," the Scottish doctor called from the doorway. "Are you feeling any better?"

"More like I walked into a rock wall and less like I ran into one," Beverly answered as lightly as she could. Dragging herself to her feet, she let Deanna's hand steady her.

"You look a wee bit better," the doctor noticed as he studied her face. "I wish I could say the same for your friend."

"Doctor-" Beverly began.

"Carson," he corrected her as he extended his hand sheepishly. "Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. I'm Doctor Carson Beckett. I believe you are a doctor as well."

His guess earned a tiny smile from Deanna. Beverly closed her eyes for a moment when the pain behind her eyes swelled into something white hot. "Beverly Crusher," she introduced herself in return.

"Deanna," her friend offered simply. "My husband is Will Riker."

Dr Beckett took her hand and shook it warmly. "I'm sorry I can't do more for him," he apologized as his eyes joined Deanna's on Will.

"I can," Beverly volunteered bluntly. "There's a medical kit on our ship. If you bring it to me, I can stop the swelling in his brain before the damage gets any worse."

Taken aback, Beckett just stared at her before curiosity overcame him. "You can? With what? I'd love to—"

"I will escort you to Dr Weir," a new guard offered politely from the doorway. "One of you."

Beverly squeezed Deanna's arm just above the elbow and steadied herself on her feet before she nodded. "I will go with you."

Her escort's insignia were tiny gold maple leaves. Beverly couldn't remember what they stood for. He said nothing as they walked through the outpost. The quarantined room gave way to a long corridor of brown stone and blue lights. Where ever they were was well designed and actually quite beautiful. One corner even led to an expanse of glass windows with water and brilliant blue sky beyond.

"We're floating?" Beverly asked softly as her silent escort allowed her to look out over an endless mass of blue.

"Took my breath away the first time too," he admitted with a grin. "Doctor Weir's office is this way." His outstretched hand indicated a set of stairs and a doorway that opened onto a greater space. He wore a simple dark blue flight suit and his soft brown hair and thoughtful eyes reminded her oddly of her son. Her heart sent a sudden stab of worry through her that surpassed her headache. Jean-Luc was still on the Enterprise and he would find her. He always had.

The arched door opened up into a grand chamber. Directly across from her was a stunning expanse of stained glass windows. A catwalk and balcony ringed the room and a grand staircase led up to them just below the display of color. In the center of the room was a strange stone ring, covered in glowing symbols she didn't recognize. Right in front of that ring was the wreck of the _Montreal. _

Counting her blessings that she had not been more injured than she was, Beverly winced as she saw the dried blood on the inside of the glass and the grotesque angle at which the shuttle had crashed into the stone floor. Heavy scratches ran from the _Montreal_ to the stone ring and she wondered if it was some sort of portal into the outpost. Technicians, most of them in short sleeved, light blue shirts, swarmed over the ship and Beverly's heart leapt when she recognized the neat grey box of the shuttle's medkit.

Her escort indicated the grand staircase. At the top of the stairs, a dark haired woman argued with a man who spoke with an accent Beverly had trouble placing. Her exhaustion finally allowed her to remember that he reminded her of Worf's parents.

"Dr Weir," her escort interrupted politely when it became apparent there was not going to be any sort of pause in the argument. "Allow me to present Dr Beverly Crusher."

Startling at the use of her name and title, Beverly turned to her escort in surprise.

"Forgive me," he whispered as Dr Weir nodded and dismissed the flustered scientist. "I'm a very good listener."

"Please," Dr Weir gestured up a second set of stairs towards a walled glass office at the end of the long catwalk. "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself sooner. We're—"

"You seem quite busy," Beverly interrupted to test the level of familiarity this leader would allow her. Unlike the rest of the crew of this water outpost, Dr Weir wore red and the unmistakable burden of command. Her green eyes were quick and intelligent and her curling brown hair hung neatly to her shoulders.

"I'm afraid you arrived in the middle of something," Dr Weir offered with the same apologetic tone. "Are you all right?"

"A bit knocked around," Beverly admitted as she sank gratefully into the simple chair across from the large grey desk. The rectangular objects on the desk seemed to be primitive computers, fitting her assumption that this was some kind of late twentieth century installation. "Dr Beckett has taken good care of us."

Dr Weir's green eyes lit in a pleasant smile. "I'm glad to hear that," she replied. Sitting up straight in the chair behind the desk, she met Beverly's eyes. "I'm told you have a request?"

Surprised to get so quickly to the point, Beverly returned her candor. "There is a medical kit on our shuttle that I need to treat my friend. I am a medical doctor. I can assure you I mean no harm to you or anyone on your outpost, I just want to heal his injuries."

Dr Weir's poker face was incredible; all the surprise in her face was confined to her eyes. "You can do that?"

"Our medical technology appears to be slightly more advanced," Beverly replied guardedly.

"Carson," Dr Weir began and then restated. "Dr Beckett said operating on your—"

"Will Riker," Beverly interrupted again hoping a name on the patient might make her cause more credible. "His name is Will."

"Will-" Dr Weir modified and continued; "Needs a very difficult operation. Dr Beckett wasn't entirely sure he could complete it without causing brain damage."

Dr Weir seemed fairly reasonable and she was too tired not to let her desperation show. "Without an operation," she pleaded. "He'll be dead by tomorrow morning. He's a good friend. He loves music, jazz, even plays the trombone." The other woman's eyes softened slightly and Beverly reached for what Deanna had exposed for her. "He's saved my life, both of them have. They, I mean, Deanna—"

Darkness, a deep-seated pain, flashed across Dr Weir's face as she interrupted; "I approve the operation."


	4. Chapter 4

For the first time in his life, John Sheppard was blissfully happy to be trapped in an alien world. Happy wasn't even the right statement, he was profoundly giddy. He'd woken up in sickbay, not just any sickbay, THE SICKBAY on the Enterprise-D. He'd been hyposprayed, far more pleasant than any shot Carson or any other Earth doctor had ever given him. He'd been allowed to use the replicator in Ten Forward to replicate absolutely whatever he'd wanted. He was three-quarters of his way through his steak, Black Angus beef rare enough to be almost blue, and nearly smothered with French fries so hot they almost burned his mouth. He had a salad as well, something the computer, which spoke to him, had suggested went well with his meal.

His salad was Andorian, the leaves were purple and the bread that came with it was almost black. John didn't even really like salad, but this? Well, this was alien, it was special. It had materialized in front of him. He even had beer. He'd had Athosian beer, Satedan beer, something that passed as a poor substitute for bad vodka with Genii traders,- one thing the Pegasus galaxy had going against it along with the shockingly high population of bloodthirsty aliens was a serious lack of a serviceable lager.

The Enterprise had beer. Yes, it was replicated, and mysterious non-alcoholic, but at the same time, it was glorious. The Vulcans were logical, and yes, they played three dimensional chess far far better than Rodney. Aliens, not life-sucking kind, played games and argued and ate lunch around him. Despite an undercurrent of concern, three officers, Riker, Troi and Crusher, all well-liked, talented officers were missing. John nearly shared their concern. He felt like he knew them. He'd seen them, he'd watched their adventures especially closely during a rough few years in college, and then while he struggled as a lieutenant.

On Star Trek, insubordination got worked out at the end of the show and the officers slowly came to respect their gruff, yet intelligent and dedicated commander. Perhaps if he'd served for Jean-Luc Picard, just being on his ship was like reading a newspaper and finding an article written by Clark Kent, John would have been a better officer. Maybe Elizabeth would have liked him immediately instead his forcing her to see his good side before she warmed up to him. John didn't know. He wasn't sure. He knew he missed her. What really surprised him was how much. Past the giddy notion that he was on the _Enterprise, _he just wanted to go home, to tease Elizabeth for never seen the show, subject her to a marathon in his quarters followed by a marathon of something else more R-rated…

John pushed aside his synthehol beer and tried to finish his desert. Missing Elizabeth had suddenly made the chocolate cheesecake less than tasty and he pushed that aside as well. Only morosely looking down at his chest and realizing he was wearing a commbadge brightened him up. He'd been given one so he could walk freely around the ship. Pinned on his replicated black t-shirt and fairly tight Starfleet issue, civilian black pants was a commbadge. It was a triangle of silver, bottom line curved upward like Kirk's ship's insignia, placed over a circle of gold. It was the symbol of hope and freedom and really nice phaser rifles.

If anyone could get him home, the combined force of McKay, who was a genius, even thought John hated admitting it, Data and Geordi La Forge could not be stopped by anything in the galaxy. Any galaxy really.

* * *

Elizabeth had never watched brain surgery. Usually she just sat on the chair nearby and held her breath. This time however, her curiosity demanded that she watch. In spite of her obvious exhaustion, Dr Crusher had begged her to being immediately. Watching Carson press a hot cup of coffee into his fellow doctor's hands as she collected herself, Elizabeth wondered what could be going through her mind. She held lives in her hands every day but never so literally.

When her cup was empty, Crusher left it on the far table and stood. Tying her long red hair back and sharing a long look with Troi, she watched with dark amusement as Carson's staff connected Riker to what must have been incredibly odd-looking machines. Perhaps it was the Carson then led her to scrub for surgery. When her hands were clean, the foreign doctor shook off his offer of rubber gloves and instead held up a small instrument, square and black, like a hand-held flashlight. Running a bright purple light over her hands, she offered it to Carson.

The other woman, Deanna, remained at his side. His hand was wrapped in two of hers and there was a fear in her eyes Elizabeth didn't want to admit she knew. Riker had been stripped of his shirt; a simple white sheet covered his torso but left his shoulders bare. He had been turned on his side and Elizabeth shuddered. At their weakest, humans seemed doomed to

Crusher allowed one of Carson's nurses to slip the surgical mask over her face and nodded to Carson. "I'm not going to tell you which tools I am using," she said voice slightly muffled by the mask. "I will tell you what I am doing but I can not explain how."

Carson nodded quickly and took a place next to Riker's left ear. Reading the calm, professional concern on his face, Elizabeth was surprised when she found his envy. She supposed that was fair enough, after all, barehanded surgery was crude under most conditions.

When Crusher caught his questioning look, she shrugged. "I can't be precise enough with your gloves on," she explained. She lifted something, longer and thinner than the hand-cleaning tool, and held the rounded tip to Riker's skull. To Elizabeth's surprise, Riker's dark brown hair started to fall away. There was no sound, just the soft continuous beeping of the heart monitor. Carson had offered to sedate Riker but Dr Crusher had something else.

Her device, a rectangle covered with blinking lights, sat on the bed next to Riker. Elizabeth wasn't sure what it was but Dr Crusher kept checking it with her eyes. When Riker's hair was gone from his head, Dr Crusher let Carson sweep it away. Running the purple sterilizing light over the bare white skin of his head, Dr Crusher paused before lifting what had to be a scalpel from her kit.

A laser arced out from the tip, slicing through skin and muscle in a neat thin line down the occipital bone. The wound didn't bleed. Elizabeth watched in absurd fascination as Dr Crusher peeled the skin back from the bone. Watching the bone appear white and shining beneath the bright red flesh, she felt her stomach twist. Even from the distance, Elizabeth almost thought she could smell blood. She knew it was impossible but she could feel the metallic taste creep into the back of her throat.

When Dr Crusher removed the circle of bone from the back of Riker's head, Elizabeth nearly couldn't look. Turning her eyes to Troi's face, she watched her nearly black eyes remain fixed on his hand wrapped in her own. Her breathing was steady and as Elizabeth kept watching, Troi's gaze never moved. Riker's chest moved slowly and Elizabeth could trace the muscles of his chest beneath the edge of the sheet. Underneath his skin and the fine covering of brown hair, his heart beat for the woman holding his hand.

Shaking her head, Elizabeth knew she was being foolish. A heart was just an organ, a busy muscle stuck with a constant duty. It was sentimental of her to imagine Riker's heart beating for his wife. Maybe she was sentimental, she realized. Sighing, Elizabeth admitted she felt off. John was missing and everything was off. He wasn't here to remind her that technology wasn't magic. Hell, he probably would have understood Radek's obsession with the _Enterprise_.

She hadn't had the time to look over much of his findings, technical babble and scientific speculation had to take a backseat. Somehow during this mess two Wraith ships had discovered Atlantis still existed, or at the very least seemed to be headed in their direction to sort out the wreckage. For the moment, that knowledge belonged to her, Radek and Chuck alone, but she couldn't keep t that way.

Riker might live just long enough to be destroyed by the Wraith. If, when, she corrected herself, John's team returned they could sort out the wreckage. Dropping her head into her hands, Elizabeth realized that watching brain surgery really wasn't so bad after all. The glistening grey and white beneath Dr Crusher's amazing laser scalpel really was quite fascinating compared to impending doom at the hands of life-sucking aliens.

Biting her lip as she observed the steam from a cauterized bleed rise from Riker's exposed brain, Elizabeth forced herself to let the stress out of her shoulders. She really did miss John. He'd tell her just how cool it was to have visitors from space and he'd know how to make her laugh.

* * *

"They use vacuum energy based batteries," Geordi explained as he stood from the floor and turned his visor on the exposed power conduit in the strange ship spread out on the floor of cargo bay two. "I can't really tell you how the technology works, right now I just know that it does," he paused grinning slightly. "Forgive me, sir, but it's really terribly fascinating. They have somehow figured out how to extract energy from a compact region of subspace. The one in this ship is tiny, like a warp core in one of our shuttles."

Geordi directed the captain's attention to what looked like an orange and yellow crystal, barely bigger than a commbadge. "A bigger one of these, " he said turning it over in his hand. "If it existed, would definitely be enough to power a whole starbase."

Jean-Luc whistled slightly and smiled as he watched Geordi set the crystal back down. "A whole society powered on subspace batteries," he mused and reached for the crystal.

"That's not even the best part, sir," Geordi continued and leaned closer. "Every part of this ship is more than fifty thousand years old."

Distracted by the slight weight of the power source in his hand, Jean-Luc nearly dropped the crystal when he heard what his chief engineer had discovered. "Fifty thousand?"

"Teyla confirmed it, sir," Geordi finished with a shrug. "She told me technology was not her strong suit, she's with Guinan, hearing about life in our galaxy. Apparently the one called McKay is their, well, their version of me. As soon as he's awake—"

Jean-Luc waved him off with a small smile. "I suppose I'll be hard pressed to find a better guide to our galaxy than Guinan," he replied with surprising cheer. It was still difficult to keep his spirits up with part of his crew missing. He tried to ignore the voice that insisted it was actually the Beverly part of his crew he was most worried about. Will and Deanna were certainly just as important to the ship. The part he had to deal with was what was important to him.

"Carry on, Mr. La Forge," he ordered with a smile as he left. "Good work."

* * *

Data was on the bridge, so buried in his work that he barely acknowledged the presence of his captain. Jean-Luc peered over his shoulder at the astrological charts on the science station. "Wormholes Mr. Data?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes, sir," Data replied without hesitation. "According to Lt. Colonel Sheppard, artificial wormholes are their primary mode of deep space transportation. They were in one of these wormholes before they arrived in our universe."

Jean-Luc turned and leaned against the station with one hand as he looked closer. "You're certain they are not from our universe?" he wondered in amazement.

"Yes, sir," Data answered without removing his eyes from his reading. The words flew by, but most of the pictures were things Jean-Luc could recognize in passing. "Their quantum signatures are just off of our own. They have vastly different technology unlike anything in Federation records, Even though Sheppard claims to, and appears to be from a Earth, it is not the Earth with which you or I are familiar."

The information on Data's screen stopped so Jean-Luc could see what he was studying. "I have been functioning on the theory that returning our guests to their universe will return Commander Riker's team to our universe," he offered as he indicated a passage of wormhole physics. "Their artificial wormholes function outside of normal space-time, much like our own warp drive, somehow-" If Data had been human he would have shrugged, "-The shuttlecraft _Montreal _and their 'puddlejumper'-"

Jean-Luc felt himself smile involuntarily at the name.

"-switched places," Data finished turning his head towards his captain. "It is an incredibly intriguing phenomenon of quantum physics that has never been explored before. Aside for one, obscure cultural reference in twenty-first century 'pop' culture, this situation is entirely without precedence in the universe."

"Twenty-first century?" Jean-Luc repeated with a raised eyebrow.

Data's white fingers flew over his science station and his display changed to a strange logo bearing the words 'Wormhole Xtreme'. "It is a 'television' show concerning a highly irregular account of the adventures of a pseudo-military organization with very questionable science behind it. Some references even comment on it as a 'pulp fantasy' and a 'cult phenomenon'."

Chuckingly dryly, Picard read over the notes around the show. "It's a commercialized version of the lives of our guests?" he asked with grin.

"Actually it is what is called a 'sequel' that seems most similar to our guests," Data corrected, bringing up a new logo which was in a teal color instead of the silver of the first bearing the words 'Wormhole Xtreme: Pegasus'. "All of the characters seem to be loosely based on the people Sheppard described as his crew. Complete with a fictional version of the creatures he calls the 'Wraith'"

A twenty-first century actor in a bright green latex suit with vaguely vampiric looking features leered at them from the screen.

"You believe we must have had contact with them before?" Jean-Luc asked as he tried not to chuckle again at the look on the fictious creature's face. The creatures Colonel Sheppard had described were anything but amusing. An entire species that lived on literally consuming the life-force of other races was too horrible to imagine.

"I believe that is the most logical explanation," Data answered with a quick nod. "At some point, members of Lt. Colonel Sheppard's universe must have intersected with our own and planted the idea for a fictional story."

"That's fascinating," Jean-Luc agreed as he made a note to look into how that could have occurred at another date. "Any thoughts on how to get them home?"

* * *

"I hope our food is acceptable," the voice behind her began apologetically. "Our supplies are fairly limited at the moment."

Deanna reached out with her mind and felt the now-familiar knot of controlled concern she associated with Dr Weir. "Beverly reminded me it had been nearly a day since I had eaten," she answered sheepishly as she turned around. "All of this tastes wonderful."

Dr Weir indicated the space across from her at the metal table. "Mind if I join you?" she asked politely.

"Not at all," Deanna replied waving her hand at the chair and feeling the relief in the other woman's mind. There was a shyness deep beneath the surface that she found highly endearing. Yawning before she could speak, she started to laugh softly. Dr Weir seemed too concerned to join her but she did smile. "Forgive me."

"Not necessary," Dr Weir assured her with a rush of warmth. "You've certainly had a rough first day in the city."

"It is very beautiful," she offered as she covered her mouth and yawned again. "It must be an incredible thing to wake up to that sunrise every morning."

Dr Weir's smile was genuine but her exhausted thoughts suggested the sunrise wasn't something she made time for very often. "How is your husband?"

Deanna felt the stab of guilt for the continued lie. The humans of Atlantis had proved to be quite welcoming and mostly content with their constant explanation that they were not allowed to explain any of their technology or even where they were from. Something in the word 'husband' had trigged a nearly buried emotion in Dr Weir's mind. She couldn't probe too deeply without being invited, especially with someone who had no knowledge of her abilities.

"He's recovering," she replied with a naked smile of relief. "He's very strong and Beverly is very very good at what she does."

"I've never-" Dr Weir began with a tiny smile of her own. It faded into a curious stare as she poked at her pasta with a fork. "You really can't tell me, can you?"

Deanna sighed and squared her shoulders. "It is complicated," she replied simply. "There are many things I can discuss but our technology is not one of them."

"Fair enough," Dr Weir nodded and silently drank her tea for a long moment. "Could you tell me how you met your husband?"

Deanna put down her spoon and stared at the bright blue dish of something called 'jello' she'd been given as a desert. Beverly hadn't tried it. She'd been so exhausted after Will's surgery that she'd eaten her pasta mechanically and gone to bed as soon as she was satisfied she was not going to wake up ill from malnutrition.

"It's good," Dr Weir assured her as she reached for her bread on the edge of her tray. "Rodney thinks it's the best thing we have."

"He will find his way home," Deanna assured the pang of fear she felt in the other woman. "And yes, I can tell you about Will." Pausing as she tried to figure out how to explain her people without given too much away, she decided that disclosing her abilities might be constructive. Taking a spoonful of the 'jello' before she started, she grinned at the strange but pleasant flavor before she began.

"It's not chocolate," Dr Weir mused ruefully as she daubed her bread in the red sauce on her plate.

"No," Deanna agreed as she felt herself warming up to the other woman. "But it's not bad. I may look human, but I'm not. My father is human but my mother is from another planet called Betazed. Betazoids are a telepathic species. They can sense the emotions and thoughts of others and communicate through their minds."

Dr Weir swallowed and raised her eyebrows. "You must have a very honest society," she said diplomatically.

"Extremely," Deanna agreed as she felt her respect for her dinner companion grow. "I'm only half-Betazoid, so my abilities are limited." That brought the sense of relief she had expected.

"You have no idea how jealous I am of the way your hair curls?" Dr Weir teased jovially. It was an effort to hide her sudden nervousness but she seemed to have nothing she wanted to bury.

"No," she answered amenably. "Will was assigned to my planet without knowing what he was getting into. We were both very young at the time and actual met at the wedding of my best friend."

Dr Weir's gentle smile was infectious and even somewhat impish. "That's terribly romantic," she teased.

"Weddings on Betazed are conducted in the nude-" she began to explain as Dr Weir nearly choked on her tea. "The first time I saw Will he was engaged in a very detailed line of thought concerning what he would like to do with my naked body—"


	5. Chapter 5

The image on the viewscreen was distorted, twisted around the edges as if it were being seen through half-melted glass. Rodney knew exactly what he was looking at from unfortunate experience.

"They're Wraith ships," Rodney explained as he felt his stomach start to tighten. "And they're heading for Atlantis." He fixed his eyes on the captain to his right. Picard couldn't understand the Wraith. Nothing Rodney could say would possibly explain the horror of the Wraith to him. "Atlantis cannot defend itself against two ships," he started to explain as he felt his heart sink further into his stomach. "Maybe if they had another ZPM, but they're going to have to put Carson in the chair and, well, he's a doctor, he's just not as good as John--"

Picard lifted his hand and waved him quiet regally. "Doctor," he begged politely. "I will not understand your predicament better if you explain it at warp speed." Leaning forward to rest his hand on the arm of his chair, he studied the image in front of him. "Can you clean it up a bit Data?"

Data's white hands flew over the console. The image shuddered and shifted colors for a moment before it improved slightly. In better focus, the Wraith ships looked even more ominous. "They appear to have stopped."

"Wraith ships have limited faster-than-light capability," Rodney explained as concisely as he could. "They need to recharge before they reach the city."

* * *

Picard kept his eyes on the screen in front of him. "How long?"

Rodney bit his lip and tried to keep himself in the chair next to Picard. "Two hours, maybe three if we're lucky," he replied as he left his chair. Pointing at the screen didn't mean anything but it did make him feel better. "They'll slaughter Atlantis. They'll feed on everyone in the city and they'll make their way to Earth."

"Feed?" Picard asked without letting any emotion slip into his voice. Elizabeth would have told him to stop exaggerating, maybe even reminding him to keep his mind on his work. Luckily, Picard didn't know him that well.

"According to Colonel Sheppard's debriefing," Data reminded the captain. "The Wraith 'feed' on other races by draining their life force. A fascinating process."

"Says the android who's immune to them," Rodney muttered under his breath.

"They suck the life out of you," John's voice interrupted from behind them. Rodney had missed the hiss of the turbolift. One of the gold shirted security officers stood behind John, unobtrusively watching. "Leaving you a dried out hulk. The worst part is that you keep screaming. I know it's not your fight, sir," he added politely as he walked down towards the command chair. "I know we're trapped here, just like your crew is trapped over there," John continued as he put himself between Rodney and Captain Picard. "Earth is still Earth, no matter what reality it's in."

"I assume your holodeck program is ready?" Picard asked as he left his chair and straightened his uniform jacket.

John nodded and tilted his head towards the turbolift. "Your Lieutenant Worf and Ronon had already done most of the work," he admitted with a small sardonic smile. "When they got done killing everything your galaxy had to offer, they decided to try killing some things from ours."

"I find Worf is always most inventive when it comes to new challenges," Picard replied as he waited for Rodney to enter the turbolift with everyone else. "We are close to being able to send you back. Mr. La Forge has been working on the problem and I have the utmost faith in his abilities."

Rodney's initial shock of being on the Enterprise-D had worn off as soon as he'd known the Wraith were closing in on the city. "Even if you send us back--"

"Your city is no match for those ships," Picard interrupted him with cool understanding. "Doctor McKay, I'm not immune to your plight. However, there are channels that must be followed. Protocols--"

He stopped speaking when they saw Worf in the corridor. The Klingon was sprawled in front of the door to the holodeck, Ronon lay next to him. Blood was pouring out of a cut on Ronon's arm, part of Worf's uniform was wrapped around it but it was still staining the pristine carpet of the Enterprise. One of the blue uniformed medics knelt next to Ronon, who looked to Worf before accepting treatment.

When Worf nodded, Ronon relaxed and let the glowing device heal his arm. When John looked at him, Ronon smiled almost gleefully.

"I like it here," he grunted as he reached for Worf's shoulder. "I like Klingons."

"You will also like bloodwine," Worf assured him as they dragged each other to their feet to accompany the medic.

"Mister Worf," Picard began with a gently patronizing tone that reminded Rodney of his father. "You are aware of the safety protocols."

"Yes, sir," Worf replied as he buried his grin of victory. "I wished to show our guest the full capabilities of our holodeck. I must have become carried away, sir."

"Indeed," Picard replied with a nod. "Give my regards to doctor Selar, won't you?" Turning to John and the holodeck, he let the medics lead Ronon and Worf away.

To Rodney's shock, as they rounded the corner, Worf started to sing. After a moment, a deep baritone that must have been Ronon, joined him. He was still stunned when John directed his attention back to the holodeck.

Rodney couldn't help a tiny gasp of surprise when they walked into the black room ringed with the familiar yellow grid. He was actually standing on a holodeck, ready to show Starfleet just how insidious the Wraith could be.

"Computer," John asked politely, smiling a little as he started at Rodney. "Run program, Pegasus One."

Rodney was on a Wraith ship. The stench as all around him and the heat sank into his bones. It took all of his strength not to run for the exit. Even when he allowed himself a glance backwards, the door was gone. The arch thing that controlled everything was gone as well. He was trapped on the Wraith ship with John and Captain Picard and none of them had a weapon.

The sound of footsteps can from the left down the reddish purple Wraith corridor. John nodded and waved for them to follow. "I didn't have access to a photograph of the officer who was involved in this incident, Worf helped me use a version of me instead."

Now Rodney was really sick to his stomach and wasn't just the smell of the Wraith ship. He was going to watch John, his best friend, die horribly. It didn't really matter that it was a recreation. It felt real.

The huge Wraith in the face mask grabbed the fake John, the John with a useless P-90 clasped in his hands, and it took all of Rodney's control not to run screaming down the corridor and get the hell away from the Wraith.

The fake John didn't speak as he dropped to his knees in front of the Wraith queen. He didn't struggle, didn't scream in terror because he had no idea what was waiting for him.

Pulling back her hand like she was winding up a weapon, the queen leered greedily at John. The moment before impact lasted forever. John was breathing slowly, almost calmly. Picard didn't know what was coming but for the first time since Rodney had met him, he looked unsure. Rodney just wanted a gun.

"Can I have a gun?" he begged John as he tugged his shirt. "Even just a pistol or something."

The queen roared and slammed her hand into the skin of fake John's chest. Rodney turned his head away, feeling his stomach sink into his shoes. Fake John's face began to shrivel, tightening around his eyes as if years were passing in seconds. His ribs began to stick out of his chest, digging into his skin from beneath like a ruin emerging from the soil after centuries of obscurity.

Fake John was screaming, then after a moment he was beyond even that. The hologram made an inhuman yowl, something more piteous and desperate than a throat should be capable of.

The real John Sheppard just watched, impassive and calm. Captain Picard's skin had dropped a shade of color. His lips were a thin, pale line in his face. His eyes never left the hologram.

Rodney hadn't seen anything like this. He could tell himself it was just a recreation or that he knew intellectually what was happening so he didn't need to watch. He'd seen the aftermath. He'd heard John's story.

He hadn't seen one of them feed. Rodney definitely hadn't seen a human life melt away.

Captain Picard hadn't either.

* * *

Commander Will Riker hadn't seen a gunshot wound since he'd let Data and Geordi drag him along to a World War One recreation on the holodeck. The team, lead by Major Lorne, came through what Dr Weir called the 'Stargate' as one mass of limbs and blood soaked uniforms. He had been standing next to Beverly and Deanna, listening to Dr Zelenka explain what he thought had happened to them when the alarms started to sound.

The 'gate erupted outward in a whoosh of what looked like water before settling down to form a glittering vertical pool. He'd seen the event horizon of a wormhole before but this 'Stargate' technology was the first time he'd seen a captive one. It almost seemed wrong, like capturing a warp bubble in a bottle.

A crisis was the same in any universe and medics moved the same way. Dr Beckett, the one who had assisted Beverly with the surgery that had saved his life, led the medical team strapping the wounded into stretchers.

How long had it been since he'd seen a stretcher like that?

Beverly met his eyes for a moment before she started down the stairs. Will rested his arms on the railing of the balcony, looking over the flurry of activity below as he tried to find his place in this. Deanna's hand touched his arm and even through the hazy mess of his post-surgery thoughts, he felt her touch in his mind as well. Reaching over to tuck her hand against his arm, he let her fingers find their way closer.

Will wasn't entirely sure what it was like to feel the pain of everyone around him, but he knew she wouldn't reach for him unless she needed to know he was there. He couldn't heal the soldiers, bleeding on the floor of the beautiful room he was standing in like Beverly. The one thing he could do was be there for Deanna.

"Genii raiders," Dr Weir explained grimly shaking her head and tightening her arms over her chest. "When it's not the Wraith, they're lurking in the darkness. Lorne's team was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Beverly's very good," Will promised. Touching his own head to make his point, he managed to get Dr Weir to release some of the pressure in her arms.

"I'll never turn down another doctor," she replied softly. Taking a step away from him, she stiffened as she walked down the catwalk towards her office. Deanna's hand tightened in his. Dr Weir stopped and turned back to them apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'll--"

"We'll go eat," Will suggested and felt Deanna agree with him with a nod. "I'm sure someone could-"

"-I can take you to the mess hall," Dr Zelenka offered politely putting down his computer and picking up a different large tablet. "I am heading that way."

"We'll finish our meeting tomorrow," Dr Weir offered over her shoulder as one of her staff hurried up to hand her another report. "We'll keep trying to find a way to get you home."

* * *

The mess hall was quiet. At first, Will Riker appreciated it because it let him put the pieces of his memory together. He'd been flying the shuttle and everything had been normal. One indicator light had gone off in the upper left corner of his console. He remembered the orange light blinking patiently but he couldn't place what it meant.

His head still hurt. Beverly could probably give him more terakine but their supply was limited. Atlantis' doctor, Beckett, had given him something he called ibuprofen in two little reddish tablets. They sat on the corner of his blue plastic tray and he stopped staring at them when he felt Deanna's quizzical brush across his mind.

"Thought I'd ask Beverly first," he admitted shrugging. "I'm sure they're fine."

"You like to be sure," Deanna finished his thought for him with her lips pursed in a half-smile. She watched him for a long moment, toying with the pasta in front of her with her fork, before the smile grew into something wicked.

Never sure what he was getting himself into, Will couldn't resist. "What?" He asked finally.

"I was just thinking," Deanna only paused to watch him squirm. Will could feel it. "You would have taken them if you thought Dr Beckett was attractive."

"Counselor-" He began to protest before he conceded the point. "Perhaps I'm just more comfortable with Dr Crusher."

Deanna tilted her head in thought and then nodded demurely before turning her attention to her small plate of green salad. "She is very attractive," she deadpanned and accepted more coffee from one of the stewards. "I didn't realize that physical attraction factored into each one of your decision making processes. I suppose Captain Picard is just lucky-"

"He has very nice legs," Will answered as he bit back the urge to chuckle. "As your mother loves to point out."

"I had no idea he could even be that nervous," she agreed conspiratorially. "I didn't realize I hadn't actually felt terror from him until the second time she beamed on board."

Will let himself chuckle. Perhaps it was the way the captain believed so strongly in the polite niceties of life and the way Lwaxana could skirt all of them and still be, in her odd way, incredibly charming. Moving his piece of chocolate frosted cake from his tray to hers made her beam.

Deanna closed her hand around the lip of the plate. "Not interested?" she teased.

"Not that hungry," he replied sheepishly. "Figured I'd be a good boy and finish my dinner first."

Burying her fork in the cake, Deanna brushed his leg with hers under the table. "Being a good boy is certainly a new direction for you," she replied sardonically.

"New universe, new habits," Will said shrugging. He pushed back from the table a bit and ran his hand through his hair. Beverly had done an incredible job replacing what he'd had but it was a little shaggier than it had been. He hadn't asked if Atlantis had a barber yet. Unfortunately, it seemed he'd have an awful long time to find out.

Deanna took a few bites before sighing and meeting his eyes. "You don't think we're going home," she said for him. Beneath the table, her leg came into contact with his and stilled.

"I didn't say that," he offered as lightly as he could. Protesting against his thoughts was moot but he felt obligated to keep up an optimistic front. "It's possible--"

"Even though we don't know how we got here," she began in an attempt to share his positive thinking.

"Or where we are," Will continued more grimly. The Pegasus galaxy was unexplored and unreachable in their universe. Even if they could somehow switch back, there was no guarantee they'd be in the right place or in good enough shape to do anything once they got there. Something in their transfer here had been violent enough to put him in grave danger.

Deanna's fork returned to her cake. "Do we stay here?"

Leaning forward to rest his elbow on the table, he caught a glimpse of his plate and tried not the let all the food still there nauseate him. "It's a military scientific command structure not too different than what we know, certainly less advanced-"

Searching his face, Deanna smiled slightly when she corrected him. "They command artificial wormhole technology and can travel between galaxies," she said dragging her fork over the last of the frosting from her plate. "Things the Federation hasn't yet discovered."

"They use salvaged technology they barely understand," Will argued softly.

Deanna nodded at his half-full plate. "You need to eat," she suggested. "I don't think it matters which galaxy we're in, or where we're going," she chided him, lips curling into a concerned smile. "Finish your dinner."

Chuckling to himself, Will lifted his fork again and poked at his now lukewarm pasta. "Yes ma'am."

* * *

Teyla watched the wonders of the new world unfold beyond the windows of Ten Forward. She'd been on the _Daedalus_ several times, and though it was a practical way to travel, it certainly wasn't as beautiful. The _Enterprise _was elegant, not crowded and full of mechanisms like the Earth ship. It lacked the smell and the sensation of breathing that was omnipresent on a Wraith ship.

Not knowing the difference between warp speed and hyperspace, she found warp the more artistic way. Instead of losing space to the wormhole-like tunnel of hyperspace, she could watch as the tiny rainbows of stars and the greater beauty of the occasional nebula flew by.

The people of the _Enterprise _were nearly as varied and beautiful as the view. There was blue skin, pointed ears, all types of scales and even a few aliens with fur. Guinan, the mysterious woman who was responsible for Ten Forward, set another drink on the table in front of her and removed her empty glass. Teyla nodded to her politely and wondered if a bartender was something Elizabeth would allow. Guinan seemed to do wonders for morale on this ship, perhaps there was a way to come up with something similar.

"Is this seat taken?"

Turning her eyes from the window, Teyla found Captain Picard standing politely behind the chair across from her. She'd heard John's plan to demonstrate the Wraith and found it crude. The people of Starfleet seemed reasonable enough but John was worried about timing. Atlantis would most likely perish faced with two Wraith ships and only holding one ZPM. They had a chance but it was slight.

"Please," Teyla offered with a wave of her hand.

Captain Picard sat for a moment before Guinan arrived silently with a cup of tea. Smiling softly at her, he wrapped his hands around the cup and joined her eyes looking out the windows. "A wise man once asked me if all of space was a unending vastness full of wonders," he mused thoughtfully. "Why was it that all the species, living in all the wonderful variety of space, couldn't learn to share." He lifted his tea and took a sip.

"I was born on an idyllic world," he admitted the privilege apologetically. "My parents were supportive and intelligent. I was endowed with every advantage belonging to a citizen of the Federation. Excellent schooling, medical care and opportunities unrivaled on most worlds. I could have easily lived my life as a vintner, making wine and worrying about importing the best vines for my fields without ever leaving my homeworld. No one would have ever threatened my life and it would have been full and happy."

Teyla took a moment to digest that, met his eyes and found them deep and soaked in responsibility. Keeping contact, she watched him take a sip of his tea. "My people have a story we tell our children," she began. "The daughter of a tava bean farmer and the daughter of a wealthy trader meet on the road to the city. They go through many hardships together and eventually prove that it is not the wealth one is born with, but the decisions one makes that shape our destiny."

Setting down his cup, Picard nodded. "I believe we have similar parables on Earth," he replied with a slow smile. "It has been some time since someone told one to me."

Looking past the captain at the people around him, she saw the admiring looks of his crew. Her father had the trust of his people and Picard obviously commanded the same respect. "My people believe you cannot ask another to fight your war," Teyla volunteered. She had no intention of being disloyal to John but Picard had earned her honesty.

"With an enemy like the one I saw, it is hard to believe there is anyone in your galaxy who does not share your war," he replied with an involuntary tightening of his lips. She saw the flash of tortured sympathy in his eyes and the return of the tension to his shoulders. "There are many antagonistic species in our galaxy as well but few that are that omnipresent and indestructible."

"Perhaps without them--" Teyla looked out at the stars flying past the windows before turning her gaze to the people happily relaxing around them. "I do enjoy your reality."

"I don't know if asylum is something you're familiar with--" his pause was polite. When she shook her head slightly and waited for him to continue, he grew more pensive. Staring down at this nearly empty cup, Picard finished his offer. "If you desire it, you may stay in this reality. Earth, my Earth is very beautiful. Betazed, Vulcan, Tuuaris and countless others have refugee visas. Many civilians live on starships or starbases--"

Her touch on the back of his hand startled him but his hand remained on the table between them. "Thank you," she replied warmly.

"Of course."

Companionable silence drifted between them like the stars outside. "If you like," he ventured as she finished her tea, "I was about to take a walk in the holodeck. I can promise you something more pastoral than Colonel Sheppard's program."

Standing up, she smiled openly. "Perhaps you would show me your world?"

Getting to his feet at her side, Picard finished the last of his tea and offered his arm. "I have an adequate representation of La Barre I can show you. It's lovely in late summer."

Walking with him through the corridors, Teyla followed him into the turbolift and listened to him request their destination from the computer. "Will you be able to rescue your crew from our reality?" she wondered as the lift hummed.

"We believe so," he replied confidently. Teyla saw in his eyes that he wasn't as sure as his voice suggested, but his poise radiated from him like a palpable thing. There was something else she couldn't reach, a feeling that hid behind his control like a deer in the deep woods. "Data and Geordi are working on an experiment to duplicate the intersection of our realities with one of the ship's probes."

Teyla watched the crew walking past them in the corridor as he tapped the lights behind the black glass that controlled the computer. "Whom of your crew is in my reality?"

The computer announced the program was ready. Teyla repressed the urge to thank the female voice. She had not seen anyone else do so. Picard hesitated outside of the double grey door and the deer was visible for a moment. Beckoning her to the door, he waved it open. The door hissed and opened onto a world of green and gold. "Will Riker, my first officer. Deanna Troi, our ship's counselor and Beverly Crusher, our chief medical officer."

Teyla could smell flowers blooming. Their pollen carried on the wind that stirred her hair. The deck beneath her feet gave way to soft earth and grasses. The sun was even warm and gentle on her face. The flash of emotion came with the last name, Teyla was sure of it now. She would never understand why these humans, like the humans of Atlantis, seemed to intent on denying themselves what was most important.

Vines stretched out before them, lining a path that wound up a hill towards more green trees and an arch covered in white flowers. It truly was an idyllic world from which he apologetically had come.

Resting his hand on the vine, Picard let his fingers find a ripening bunch of tiny green grapes. "When I was a child I would run up and down these vines, toy starship in hand, imagining a world hundreds of light years away full of untold dangers and excitement." Looking up at the sky before he looked back at her, his expression grew contrite. "I'm afraid the opposite is now true."

Closing her eyes, Teyla let the smell of sun-warmed earth sink into her soul. "If I had this beauty in my memory, I would retreat to it as well."

* * *

The steady cramping from overuse ran up her wrists in a plague of dull pain. Rubbing her hands and then bending her fingers back the wrong way she tried to shake feeling back into the tips. Her right hand was worse, the numbing pain ran up her wrist towards her elbow. Digging her thumb into the ligament helped somewhat, but the delicate structure of her hand needed rest.

"No more emergency surgeries for awhile," she murmured to herself. Dr Beckett, Carson as he had asked her to call him, had given her another outfit. Black trousers and a simple black t-shirt to replace the bloody one she'd left to the laundry steward. Dr Weir had given them all quarters, small rooms next to each other and two of her security personnel. The security personnel were discreet but Beverly had been on enough missions to know better.

The medical technologies she was using were an odd mix between antiquated and the impressive. The scanners were nearly as good as her own on the _Enterprise _but Carson still used a metal scalpel, opiate based anesthetics and primitive metal and plastic life support systems. He'd been right when he'd thanked her for saving Lieutenant Richter, the bullets in her lungs and the damage to her heart would have been beyond his ability to repair. Shuddering slightly as she tried to imagine a life with those technologies, Beverly heard her grandmother's voice reminding her to make do. She

Will and Deanna would start discussing the possibility that they were trapped. It wouldn't be long before one of them would broach the subject with her. She'd been trying to decide would they would think best suited to break the news gently. Her money was on Will. Deanna would be too gentle and she would be too harsh. Will would withstand her biting sarcasm and refusal to accept her situation better and Deanna would know that.

Pinching the bridge of her nose and running her hand up towards her eyebrows was a foolish attempt to hold off her headache. Was Wesley studying as much as he should? He was so close to the Academy his studies were more important than ever. Would he worry about her? Geordi and Jean-Luc would look out for him, remind him to keep current with his work. Who would guide him through dating? Who would remind him to keep up with haircuts and that there was more to life than his books when he studied too had?

"Dr Crusher?"

It wasn't Will or Deanna, so she turned reluctantly towards the voice. Carson had showed her the balcony overlooking the sea and she'd retreated there. Will or Deanna could have found her easily enough, but Beverly was surprised to see Dr Weir standing in the doorway back to the corridor. The thin dark-haired leader leaned against the wall, arms folded over her chest. She'd obviously been there for some time.

Beverly turned her head just enough to be polite. "May I help you?"

"Forgive me," Dr Weir began apologetically and Beverly immediately regretted being so cold. The other woman had recoiled slightly and Beverly knew she'd been unfair. "I wanted to thank you for assisting Carson. He came to tell me you saved two of my people he would not have been able to save."

Standing up straight, Beverly turned all the way towards Dr Weir and wished she had a lab coat's pockets to stick her hands into. "He could have saved the major without me," she corrected humbly. "I fear Carson's thanking me when he should be thanking my laser scalpel."

Dr Weir took a few steps towards her and Beverly took the excuse to move her eyes back towards the sea. She seemed to be forgiven. "Commander Riker seems to be fully recovered," Dr Weir noted with the same grateful respect Carson had when they spoke.

"As I've discovered on many occasions, Will has a very hard head," Beverly mused with a half-smile.

Dr Weir's hands went to the railing next to her own. Beverly saw the tension in the muscles there. "I also wanted to apologize that we haven't found a way to return you home." Taking a deep breath, the leader of the city sighed and mimicked Beverly's motion of a moment ago by pressing on her forehead.

Amused that she wasn't the only one plagued by the same stress headaches, Beverly surprised herself by smiling. "You're doing the best you can. Obviously the _Enterprise_ hasn't found anything either."

Did the Enterprise even know they had crossed over? It was entirely possible Dr Weir's crew was dead and their arrival had simply been coincidence.

"You're very close to someone missing, aren't you?" Beverly asked when she realized she knew the look of determined bravery on the other woman's face. Better rested she wouldn't have dared but exhaustion had always made her tongue sharper. Jack had had his own fair share of close calls before his death. Jean-Luc had always managed to bring him home. Even in the end, it had been Jean-Luc. Beverly bit her lip and tried to shake the thoughts of Jean-Luc Picard rescuing her like a medieval damsel out of her head.

Dr Weir looked stunned, as if she had been lied to and Beverly was the empath.

"My husband was killed in the line of duty," Beverly admitted as a peace offering. "He died saving his ship and the lives of everyone on board. I'm afraid I know exactly what it's like to look at a doorway and wonder if he's never going to look walk through it again."

Dr Weir's lips were tight but her reply was genuine. "I'm sorry. Do you have any children?"

"It was a long time ago and yes, my son Wesley is seventeen," Beverly answered with a proud smile. Pleased no permanent damaged had been done, she waited for Dr Weir to recover. "He'll be attending the academy, Starfleet Academy I mean, next year."

Much more comfortable with this line of conversation, Dr Weir's posture softened to something more comfortable. "Is that a university?"

"Yes, arguably the best in my galaxy," Beverly paused and smiled wryly. "Although the Romulans and the Cardassians would certainly argue with me."

"Romulans and Car-" Dr Weir repeated, unsure of the pronunciation. "Other planets?"

"Cardassians," Beverly finished. "Other races. Empires, I suppose. Both of them command large numbers of worlds."

Dr Weir nodded taking in that knowledge with an impressive degree of calm. "And Starfleet is one of those empires?"

Beverly nearly laughed and she held on to the sensation. "Starfleet is no empire," she corrected. "The United Federation of Planets is a democratic conglomeration of hundreds of worlds and species. Starfleet is the scientific, medical and military body charged with keeping the peace. The Enterprise is the flagship of a vast fleet of starships. Our mission is to explore the galaxy. Occasionally we get sidetracked."

"Sounds familiar," Managing a slight smile, Dr Weir agreed. "You may call them We came here to explore, to understand this city and the new galaxy Atlantis opened for us. Unfortunately, we found the Genii and the Wraith." The tightness came back to Dr Weir's face.

"Carson told me about the Wraith." Beverly shuddered at the memory. He'd showed her the tape when she didn't understand how relieved he was to only be dealing with Genii casualties instead of Wraith. To be dealing with something that insidious and evil with only their limited technology was something she didn't want to think about for very long.

"I thought I'd be negotiating with new worlds," Dr Weir divulged ruefully crossing her arms over her chest. "Instead I write casualty reports, keep the city hidden and hope my teams come back safely. Doctor-"

"Beverly."

Dr Weir's smile was grateful. "Elizabeth. I will do everything in my power to return you to your son."

Nodding, Beverly bit her lip again and steeled herself to the possibility that Elizabeth would fail. "What's his name?"

Elizabeth's green eyes struggled through a wash of slient emotion. If she had been an empath, Beverly could have put her feelings in order, but she thought she knew.

Elizabeth paused suddenly listening to a voice in her headset for a moment. "Yes, Radek," she acknowledged. "I'll be right there."

Beverly turned back to the sea with a quick nod. She understood duty.

"Beverly," Elizabeth interrupted her thoughts again. "Dr Zelenka would like you to join us. He wants to test a theory."

"All right."

Falling into step at Elizabeth's side, Beverly was lost in her own thoughts when Elizabeth spoke again. "John," she said simply.

"It's a good name."

Elizabeth's inscrutable face broke for a moment and Beverly knew exactly what she felt beneath that mask. "He's a very good man," Elizabeth replied.

* * *

In the chair room, Dr Zelenka stood next to the control panel looking like a kid in the candy store. Will stood next to him and just seemed amused. Deanna sat in some kind of chair, the one Elizabeth said controlled the city. Her eyes were closed and above her a three dimensional map of the city hung like a holograph in the air.

Dr Zelenka pounced on Elizabeth as soon as they entered. "Commander Riker and Lieutenant Commander Troi both have the gene," he reported with barely contained excitement. "Riker's is fairly ordinary, much like the colonel or Dr Beckett but Troi--"

Beverly moved next to Will and tried to understand his smile.

"It's some kind of telepathic technology," he explained with a grin. "I can make it work but it likes Deanna."

"Likes?" Beverly wondered under her breath as Elizabeth tried to calm Dr Zelenka.

"She's accessed whole new parts of the city," Zelenka explained gleefully. "The computer's responding by increasing energy, reactivating dormant systems-- I've asked her to look for information about ZPMs."

Elizabeth raised a hand to calm him. "What kind of systems?"

Zelenka pointed at the console and shrugged his head. "We're not entirely sure. We have the computer logging what's come up so far. Starcharts, information on supergate technology, medical data we haven't seen before. it's like she knows how to speak to it and everyone else has just been fumbling in the dark."

'Ancient technology has a genetic component," Elizabeth explained to both of them as she watched the hologram move over Deanna's head. "There's a gene one has to possess to activate many of their systems."

Touching his beard in thought, Will nodded as Beverly met his eyes. "Is it possible that the gene they're talking about might provide a greater latent telepathic ability in humans? I've been told by Lwaxana that I am a better conduit than most humans." Mentioning Deanna's mother made Will smirk.

"That would explain why Deanna is so in tune with the city," Beverly agreed before she turned to Elizabeth. "I'd like to work with Carson. If I could have access to your medical records, I think I can help him better identify this gene."

The hologram faded, abruptly darkening the room as Deanna sat up and the chair returned to sleep. "I believe I've found the section containing the information you are looking for," she reported to Zelenka and Elizabeth. "I'm not entirely sure how the technology works but I think I've activated it."

Elizabeth's gaze fixed on Zelenka. "Activated what?"

"I found a laboratory that was devoted to ZPMs," Deanna reported to Elizabeth after she looked to Will. "I believe I was able to redirect power and reactivate the computers within it. It is a remarkable experience. Atlantis reacts almost as if it were alive, certainly more intelligent than any computer I have ever encountered."

Touching Will's arm, she pulled him aside. "What is a ZPM?" Beverly asked.

"Their power source," he explained back softly. "Some kind of subspace battery."

"Two Wraith ships are headed this way," Elizabeth explained grimly. "The city needs three ZPMs and we only have one."

Beverly suddenly realized that learning to adapt to this universe might not be as difficult as learning to die here.


	6. Chapter 6

Deanna's dark eyes narrowed, her eyebrows knotted her face in concentration and she still couldn't keep herself level on her feet. Beverly's free hand shot out to help her as she stumbled, but Will was having trouble biting his lip hard enough. It was her death glare that made him finally lose control and start to chuckle.

"It's not funny," Deanna's words slurred together and he managed to tone his smirk down into a smile. "I can barely feel my tongue."

Shaking her head and trying to hid her own smile, Beverly absorbed the findings on her tricorder. "Her neurotransmitters are overloaded. There's something in her bloodstream that's inhibiting their re-uptake." she explained as she forced Will to take over the job of assisting Deanna's balance by pushing her hand into his. Deanna's skin was unusually warm and her fingers toyed with the back of his palm. "Your's are a little high but your's are being reabsorbed by your brain" Pursing her lips helped her think.

"You know," Deanna piped up as she swayed on her feet. "In this light, Beverly's hair looks a lot redder than usual. Like strawberries or geetala fruit. Bill?" She pulled her hand free from his and ran it up his neck towards his chin. "Bill, have you ever had geetala fruit?'

"No," he replied grinning. Aside from the Psi 2000 virus, he'd never seen Deanna drunk. "I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure."

Still fascinated by Beverly's hair, Deanna reached for a lock of it and held it loosely in her hand. Will had to move his hand, catching her around the small of her back to keep her upright.

"Sit her down, please," Beverly asked as she ran the probe from her tricorder in a slow circle around Deanna's head. When she sat, Will and Beverly had to sit with her. His arms were wrapped around her and Deanna was completely attached to Beverly's hair. "Interfacing with the city has doubled the level of xerotolemine and psilosyne. They're Betazoid neurotransmitters. The surplus is breaking down into an alcohol-like residue. Her liver's not getting rid of it fast enough because there's some kind of opiate residue in her bloodstream." She started to smile and reached to free Deanna's hand from her hair. "Does anything hurt?"

Clutching Beverly's hand instead of her hair, Deanna grinned widely. "I feel amazing because I'm in this beautiful place. I like Atlantis. Did I tell you that? I must have told you that."

Beverly patted her hand gently and ran the probe around Will's head. Tilting her head in thought, she stared at him in astonishment. "You produce psilosine."

"I'm told not very much nor very well," he teased playfully. "Doctor Eigara found it eight years ago on the _Potemkin_, give or take. Side effect of having a very good time on Betazed. Should be in my record."

"I afraid I don't have it memorized verbatim," Beverly retorted and tried not to smile too much when Deanna started humming. "Will, that's extraordinary."

"Why aren't I-?" he wondered as Deanna turned her attention to his hair instead. Her little fingers running against his scalp made it very difficult to concentrate on Beverly's voice.

"You must not produce very much, like you said," Beverly repeated his earlier answer and shook her head. "You also don't have any opiates in your bloodstream." Getting back to her feet, Beverly looked for Doctor Zelenka, who had been patiently watching from one of the wall computers. "Are there any other crew who can use this chair on board?"

"Major Lorne, Doctor Beckett, Lieutenant Ryven, Doctor Soliari," Doctor Zelenka paused for a moment and drummed his fingers on the wall in an attempt to remember. "Sargeant Mahonen, but he doesn't really like anyone knowing it."

"Will," Beverly began after a quick nod in thanks to Doctor Zelenka. "I'm going to go scan Carson's brain and compare it to yours. I should be able to figure out exactly what it is that they call the Ancient gene in this universe. I'll get a name for the opiate in her blood as well. It's probably something she was treated with when we first arrived, before I woke up." Her eyes fell on Deanna, who was contentedly tracing the line of his beard. "She'll be fine when it wears off. Just keep her out of trouble."

"Right," Will deadpanned as Deanna kissed his fingertips playfully before jumping to her feet.

"Let's go swimming," she announced purposefully. "We're in the ocean. Bill-"

"Bill?" Beverly teased playfully watching as Deanna grabbed his arm and started dragging him towards the doorway.

Holding Deanna's hand kept her where he could keep an eye on her. "It was a long time ago," he made the excuse and wondered if he wasn't feeling part of the effects. Every time he looked at Deanna, especially when she was staring at him as if she could see right through his clothes. "I'll tell you sometime."

"I think I'll look forward to that," Beverly quipped as she headed the other way down the corridor. "Bill."

Wincing as he wondered how much he was going to squirm during that conversation, Will let Deanna wrap her arms around his.

"Did you bring a bathing suit?" she babbled without waiting for an answer. "I didn't. I'm sure they have something we could borrow but it's just not the same. Not as much fun either." She started shrugging out of the fleece jacket she'd been given. " I don't need this." She would have left it on the floor if Will hadn't have bent to retrieve it. Even intoxicated, she still had enough of the city in her head to seem to know exactly where she was going.

"You don't know what's in the water," Will offered in an attempt to gently keep her feet on dry land.

"Maybe that's the exciting part," Deanna murmured wrapping her discarded jacket around his neck and dragging his head down towards her. "Literally diving into the unknown."

One of the Atlantis officers was watching them when she started kissing him. He half felt like an idiot, holding her head in his hands and letting her- letting her do what exactly? Will asked himself as he tried not to be wholly distracted by the incredibly pleasant feeling of her lips. Maybe he really was intoxicated, certainly not as much as Deanna, but something was in the back of his head wanted to keep kissing her.

He knew better. Logically, he had no right to impose himself on her. She was intoxicated and no matter what his reputation said, Will Riker never took advantage of a woman, and he took particular care with Deanna. She had already suffered enough because of his ambitions and fears. She was pushing him towards her quarters. Her little body was shoving him back, swimming now completely forgotten, towards the doorways leading towards crew quarters.

The heavy red door opened behind him, as if someone had flicked the blue glowing switch. He hadn't and no one was behind him. Deanna's hands were wrapped tightly around his shoulders and it was definitely not her. Except, she was amused. Deanna was giggling softly as she nibbled his neck and tried to shake him out of the black fleece jacket he wore over his t-shirt.

The pushing was in his mind as well, nothing as harsh as a shove but the opening was there. She was offering herself, not just her body, but the far more tantalizing gift of her mind. Deanna's feelings were bare, vulnerable before him and all he could think was that he was taking advantage of her. Something in her thoughts tickled, like a stray piece of string running down the surface of his brain.

He was wrong. Will was definitely wrong. He wasn't taking advantage of her. He'd never seen it that way and he was an idiot. Deanna was steadily dragging his t-shirt off of his shoulders. Two of Doctor Weir's scientists scurried out of the way and Deanna made another door slide open in front of them.

How long had it been since he'd tumbled through a doorway with a woman? Deanna wasn't _a _woman, he reminded himself. Deanna was his exercise in restraint. She'd reached inside his head and fundamentally changed him. His loneliness, his distrust of others and his terrible fear that somehow, no matter how hard he fought against himself he'd be a bitter man who died alone. People couldn't be trusted, not even the best of Starfleet he served with. He'd known good officers, extraordinary beings who would have loved him like family.

Women who had loved him.

He hadn't understood that love, as he'd come to know it on Betazed, came naked. Love required surrendering of the mind he'd just never been comfortable with. Until she'd gotten under his skin. Maybe that was what he really needed, someone who saw through everything and read him like a book.

Deanna's black eyes stared up at him as she pulled him down to kiss him. _You're thinking too much. _

"I very rarely get accused of that," he murmured back, stopping her from stripping off his shirt and holding her against his chest. "You want this?"

"I want you, _Imzadi_, I may be intoxicated--"

"Swimming?" he teased as he felt her lips on the corner of his mouth.

Pulling her own t-shirt off, she dropped it on the floor of her guest quarters and looked past him out over the ocean before Deanna turned back to him and shrugged. "This feels right," she said simply. Her hair lay in soft curls along her white shoulders and he couldn't help remembering what it feel like to bury his hands in it. "I don't know what's happening in my head but I look at you and it feels right. You feel right." Her hands slid up his spine, cool beneath his shirt.

Perhaps she was pushing him, maybe he was intoxicated, in the end, it didn't matter because kissing her resonated within him like a warp coil finally falling into sync. "Deanna-" he protested one last time.

"Shut up."

* * *

With him reaching down to kiss her forehead, Deanna felt him sigh. The weight of his regrets left his body as if something terribly heavy had finally been released. His mind itself felt lighter. Somehow through the haze of neurotransmitters she could hear him better than she had in years, as if the the city had sharpened her connection to him. Maybe it was the sad fact that only Beverly and Will were familiar in this strange universe but her connection to him seemed that much more important.

She wasn't sure she could have explained it to him, certainly not in the vague mess her mind had turned into. Deanna still wanted to go swimming and she had to push that thought aside to concentrate on Will's hands. His fingers were making their way down to her trousers and she bit her lip as her fingers found the clasps on the front of his. The uniforms on Atlantis were certainly different than what she was used to. It was almost like making love after a costume party.

Had she ever done that with him? Costume parties didn't happen nearly enough on the _Enterprise, _Deanna resolved as she gleefully dragged his trousers down to his hips and pulled him back towards the single bed in her borrowed quarters. It would have been easier to do this on the _Enterprise_, she mused with her lips on his collarbone. The beds were certainly more comfortable there. His beard tickled her forehead before he brought her up to kiss her again. Quick, cheerful-yet-demanding kisses were part of the impulsive young Will Riker she'd never really gotten over. She liked it. She desperately wanted it because for all his imperfections, Will was part of her.

Perhaps that need was coming from the city. Deanna usually didn't succumb to feeling lonely. The presence of the other minds around her, the fulfilling nature of her work and her family on the _Enterprise _had always been enough. Pulling Will into her head was the only thing that felt right.

He pulled his lips away from her searching ones and his eyes widened. If she'd been sober, she never would have been so demanding, Deanna realized slowly. He still looked mildly shell-shocked, as if he'd been told something he'd always considered innocuous had a kick after all.

"I didn't realize-" he mumbled. His question remained half-formed as his warm fingers roamed over her bare collarbones. "You can?"

Deanna leaned forward and rested her forehead against his as he knelt by her bed. "I'm sorry. I wanted more of you."

"I forgot," Will began as he ran his hand up her neck. "Maybe I never knew you could do that."

Kissing his lips apologetically, Deanna brought his other hand to her thigh. "I don't." For some inane reason, she had to stifle a giggle in the back of her throat. "I though you liked determined women."

"Not all determined women can pull me into their heads," he admitted sheepishly without moving his hand. Relaxing himself as much as he could, Will tried to let her share his thoughts instead of speaking.

Deanna could barely focus on anything aside from her proximity to him. Will's silence almost made it easier to think. His hand was on her thigh, the other was cupping the back of her neck and she could feel his beard against the skin of her cheek. The strange scent of Atlantis' shampoo clung to his hair and the faint scent of brass that frequently clung to him on his off hours was absent. Her eyes caught the mix of feeling in his but her mind could define that better than her sight.

Atlantis was calm. The foreign minds around her went peacefully about their business. Nothing stuck out from the steady background noise of human thought. Beverly was tired, something deeper than that was gnawing at her and Deanna tried to make a mental note to at least convince her friend to get more rest, even if she couldn't get to the bottom of it. Elizabeth's mind was another knot of worry. Her concern was centered firmly around Sheppard's team.

Brushing her mind along Elizabeth's was like running her hand past an unshielded conduit. The tingling sensation crept over the back of Deanna's mind and she actually shuddered. Will sighed as if he could share the sensation, then he moved up to kiss her cheek.

His concern was warm and stopped the tingling as easily as he could have moved her hand away from the conduit. His curiosity bubbled just beneath the concern, patient but throughly entranced by her. Deanna moved through that layer only because she had his permission. Normally she would have drawn her strength from him and left his deeper thoughts untouched. Instead she found her way deeper into his mind, winding through the layers of thought as if she were coming down from orbit. Deanna relaxed and allowed him to guide her. Like landing lights, Will's love for her brought her down.

That feeling had varied in intensity over the years. It ebbed and swelled, patient but constant. They believed his feelings, like hers, were better left that way. A still ocean beneath the clouds of their minds that traveled with them through the stars, mostly unnoticed.

Pulling him in, strengthened and disoriented as she was by her recent communication with the city, had been like a moon crashing into the ocean of his mind. Instead of the pleasant changing of the tide, an emotional tsunami had threatened to drown him. Will, as experience kept reminding her, was an excellent example of the famed resilience of humanity.

The fear in his eyes faded and the clear blue of his irises met hers without hesitation. Instead of pulling him closer, Deanna simply dropped what remained of her shields to him. All of her thoughts, her lingering doubts, her nervousness that both of them had changed too much since their first meeting. Trying to remember how many years it had been since his hands ran their way down her shoulders, she felt the first brush of his mind against hers.

Will's mind was as gentle as his hands, all of his being was reciprocally consumed with her. He was slow, it had been some time since he'd used the abilities she was asking him to, but his strength had hardly atrophied. She knew it must feel the same way to him as it felt to her, like coming home after a long journey.

Tickling her cheek, Will's beard was unavoidable as he kissed her. The intoxicating sensation of his lips against hers more than made up for the itching. Bringing her hands up to his hair, she ran the errant lock from the front of his hair between her fingers as she pushed it back. The warm, slightly rough skin of his hands made contact with her back as he reached for the clasp of her bra. Releasing the simple, though unfamiliar, hook and loop fastener only took him a moment.

When she started to giggle, Will looked up from kissing the skin of her now bare shoulder and grinned. Glancing at the now abandoned black bra, he said, "I'm a quick study."

"You have your subjects," she murmured back. For some reason, she could feel her lips when he kissed them but struggled to form words whenever she was in charge of them. Wondering if some things just came easier to her muscle memory, Deanna guided him down. His legs parted hers slightly and his torso covered hers. Between Will and the bed, staring up at his reddened lips, she finally felt safe.

Will kissed his way down towards her left breast, teasing before he rolled her up over him. When his fingertips ran over her breast, she shared the pleasure of it with him, projecting it into his mind as her fingers fumbled with his trousers. Will's steadier fingers slipped down to help her and she nibbled his chest until he chuckled and slid the black borrowed trousers down over his hips.

Moving down his stomach, Deanna passed her hips over his long enough to make him sigh greedily. The shared sensation of blood rushing to his groin made her bite her lip. She grew wet so much faster when she could feel his need as well as her own. She could share with other lovers, but Will was special, unique really, in his ability to convey what he felt. Sex with her imzadi was sex on all levels. She touched his hand and was touched in the same moment.

His right hand passed over her breasts, cupping one before teasing the nipple of the other into a hard, rounded point. The tissues beneath whimpered and grew more desperate in wanting. dropping down to rub against his chest helped ease the ache in her crotch. Will's fingers ran light across sensitive skin, even through two layers of damning fabric.

Kissing her neck made her moan as his hand wandered over her hip and cupped her ass. Taking off her own trousers was a hell of a lot easier than his had been. Will helped her wriggle free. Her impatient groan made him smile wickedly. Sending him the memory of the two of them wrapped in each other was unfair even if Will couldn't fully understand the image, the sensation was intense enough to distract him to the point where he bit her lip.

The removal of her panties and his boxer shorts followed too quickly for her to even remember who had removed them. His hands were more dextrous, her own still clouded with residual intoxication, and a moment after Deanna felt the gentle entrance of his fingers, he was inside of her. Grinding her teeth, she groaned and held them both steady.

Breathing continued without her, Will's hand caught her cheek and his other hand ran across her stomach. Fingers ran across her mind, less tangible than his hands but no less palpable. She sighed, rocking slowly forward before she covered his hand with her own. As she kissed his neck, Deanna heard his voice in her mind, felt his lips against her ear and knew they were connected. Like being caught in the most powerful tractor beam, she was completely drawn in.

* * *

Beverly had managed to pretend to sleep, pulling her head away from the all-to-thin wall of the city while Will and Deanna made love. It reminder her of the dorms at Starfleet Academy, when it was hard not to be intimately aware of every visitor her friendly roommate had had. Not that Beverly had been short her own share of company then.

Now it was different. Now the muffled sounds of Deanna's moaning made her terribly jealous the way her roommate never had. Maybe it was too long since she'd been naked and reckless. She'd been spoiled in her youth by the affectionate, attractive and doting Jack Crusher. After she'd woken up with the sun on her face and his chest pressed against her back, Beverly had known putting up with his atrocious sense of humor would be worth it.

But it was years since Jack had died and left her to raise Wes alone. Turning over in her bed, she moved her legs against the unfamiliar sheets and sighed again. Her son was safe with Geordi and Data, who would never let him avoid his studies, and Jean-Luc who would always look after him as if Wesley was his own. Maybe he was the real reason sleep was avoiding her.

Will and Deanna were quiet now and her too active imagination put Deanna's dark head in his arms, her eyes closed as she rested on his naked chest. Beverly knew better. She shouldn't let her imagination violate their privacy, but she liked knowing they were happy.

She was jealous of more than just their sex lives, even though the last time she'd been anywhere close to naked in the arms of a man, she'd been trying to seduce Jean-Luc while under the throes of the Psi-2000 virus. Sometimes, recently late at night, she wished they'd given in. It certainly would have added something to the last three years.

When she finally gave up her bed, her mind was still on Jean-Luc. Would he be able to save them? Rationally she had no idea, but irrationally she expected him to come to her rescue. There were things he needed to know before she disappeared into this universe or any other. Would he look after Wesley? Not just in the physical or mental sense, but really look after his well-being? Would Jean-Luc be able to counsel Wesley through his first broken heart? Would he attend his graduation? Would Wesley ever forgive her for vanishing like his father? What about his first love? His marriage?

Would Jean-Luc look at Wesley's children as his grandchildren? Should he?

Unable to get his mind to focus on Wesley without turning her stomach into knots, Beverly let her thoughts drift to Jean-Luc, picturing him pacing the bridge gave her something she could focus on that steadied her.

A few moments spent looking out over the starry ocean from one of the many beautiful balconies made her regret not bringing the fleece jacket from her makeshift quarters. Beverly tried to remind herself that the security guard who had trailed her every move was a precaution they would have taken on the _Enterprise_. Trying to ignore him just made her feel more like a prisoner, so she forced herself to smile in his direction before she headed back into the warmth of the dark city.

Wandering eventually brought her to the only place she knew other than the bay where'd they'd been prisoners. The control room next to the great circle of lights everyone kept calling a 'Stargate' was as quiet as the bridge on Gamma shift. It made sense, it had to be some time in the middle of the night. How did they keep time in this city anyway?

Her eyes caught Doctor Weir leaning over the edge of a catwalk and Beverly knew the look on the other woman's face. Realizing she could at least report what she'd learned from Carson and make herself look less like a sleepwalker, she headed up the steps towards the lonely leader of Atlantis.

"Prettier at night, isn't it?" Elizabeth asked without turning to meet her. The woman had an uncanny ability to know who was around her. Almost like Jean-Luc, Beverly mused as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her trousers. It was rather nice to have pockets in them, it made her miss her lab coat less.

"It is rather beautiful," Beverly echoed. "Carson and I compared notes. It's really quite extraordinary. What has been classified as the 'Ancient gene' b your doctors on Earth is actually a genetic predisposition to telepathic activity. According to your brain scans it can be stimulated artificially with a retrovirus in the minds of some people, like Doctor McKay, but it doesn't take in everyone. Yourself for example."

Elizabeth's lips pursed and Beverly saw her knuckles tighten. "You can learn all of that from your tricorder?" she wondered.

Beverly almost laughed and wondered how much they could actually learn from this city with the full power of the _Enterprise's_ computer banks. "I have had the luxury of a different type of medical training," she began diplomatically. "Your, Atlantis's, medical database is more in tune with that."

Elizabeth nodded once and some of the tension left her shoulders. Beverly could see the concern and guilt appear in her eyes when she made eye contact. "Is Deanna all right?"

"Yes," Beverly replied with a smirk. "The effect was a fluke. Something in the differences between her neural chemistry and the way she was treated when she arrived here. I don't foresee any lasting effects, but I'll keep an eye on her. "

Elizabeth pondered this for a moment before crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I heard she was drugged?"

"Intoxicated," Beverly corrected. "My theory, and I believe Carson- Doctor Beckett-" she corrected before she violated protocol, "-agrees with me, is that the Ancients were touch telepaths. He told me about an encounter a group known as 'SG-One' had with an Ancient woman who was frozen on your Earth."

"She was able to cure Colonel O'Neill of a plague by touching him," Elizabeth elaborated.

"Fascinating," Beverly agreed with a quick nod. "I'd love to see the whole report, or meet an Ancient-"

Elizabeth suddenly smiled and Beverly realized she had an explorer's heart in common with Jean-Luc as well. "Wouldn't we all?" She paused for a moment and then apologized. "I'm sorry. You were explaining the concept of touch telepaths."

"There's a race in my universe called Vulcans who are touch telepaths. They have remarkable abilities quite different from those the Ancients possessed, but the idea is similar." Watching Elizabeth's face, she though the other woman understood. "I'd love to see how many other forms of evolution are paralleled in our universes. Humans are obviously the same. The Goa'uld empire is quite different. We have empires, Klingons and Romulans, but no one race had taken an entire galaxy hostage in my universe. At least, not lately."

Elizabeth shared her smile. "I have to admit I expected my first aliens to be green."

"The Asgard are a little more like other species we're encountered," Beverly agreed as she wondered if Elizabeth had seen any of this "Star Trek" Carson had been telling her about. "They seem to have developed a similar level and type of technology as most advanced races in my universe. Of course, they're slipstream hyperdrive is a little more complicated than warp drive."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and pointed towards her office. "I'm not an engineer."

"Good," Beverly agreed softly with a rueful grin. "If I have to have another one-sided discussion about the nature of warp drive with your very eager doctor with the accent--"

"Zelenka," Elizabeth filled in as she sank down and perched on the edge of her desk. The similarities of her office to Jean-Luc's were in form only, both of them had a desk and a few pieces of art, but with her red shirt and explorer's manner Elizabeth could easily pass for a Starfleet captain. "I'll tell him to reign it in."

"When we contact the _Enterprise_, I'll make sure he gets a few hours with Data," she said. Elizabeth tilted her head and politely waited for Beverly to explain. "Sorry, Data is the one person I think who could keep up with that level of questioning."

Elizabeth let silence hang between them for a moment. Beverly's mind wandered back to Jean-Luc and her futile desire to have him come riding to her rescue. It was childish, even foolish but she couldn't let go of the image of his face. He'd hail the city. Possibly even beam down personally to greet them and welcome the three of them home.

"Is he human?" Elizabeth's voice startled her.

Beverly stopped and tried to shake herself out of her imaginings. "I'm sorry?"

"Data," the other woman finished patiently. "Is he human? It doesn't sound like a human name."

"He's an android," Beverly said waiting for a glimmer of understanding. "A synthetic life form. He's incredibly complex, capable of processing many types of input at once and at incredible speeds. Though he still can't whistle to save his life."

"I hope I get a chance to see your vessel and your universe. It sounds most intriguing," Elizabeth said. "Aliens, androids, vessels large enough for hundreds of people to live on not just between worlds but as your home. Sounds like a dream really."

Biting her lip unconsciously, Beverly tried to imagine what it would be like to sudden be faced with that drastic a jump in technology. What would it be like to meet beings who could perform medical miracles? These humans on Atlantis didn't even have dermal regenerators, laser scalpels, even the primitive but comforting ability to stimulate the regrowth of hair. Remembering Deanna gently trying to form Will's soft brown hair into the cut it had been before she had removed it to save his life, Beverly shuddered. If she'd only had the technology available to her in Atlantis, Will would have died. If by some miracle Will had survived, he'd be bald. Now his hair was a little shaggy, but certainly nothing Mot wouldn't be able to fix when they got home.

If they ever went home.

"The Federation is far from perfect," Beverly offered. Weakly wondering if she should say something else, she sighed and tried to stop herself from biting her lip again. "But we keep trying. Something it seems all humans have in common."

Elizabeth nodded sagely and the disconnected look on her face made Beverly wonder if she suffered from the same case of distraction. The dark-haired woman seemed gently resigned to her fate, calm in a way that hid her concerns to those who did not know her but made them all too obvious to someone used to the stoic type.

Beverly knew Jean-Luc would do everything in his power to find them. Find her, her mind echoed rebelliously and she found herself again fighting the urge to bite her lip. No amount of nervous destruction of the soft tissues of her mouth would bring her home to him. Her mind locked into a private debate over which him was taking precedence, her son or-- Or what? What was Jean-Luc other than an old, very good friend. He'd been at her wedding. He'd been at the birth of her son. He'd been Jack's best friend and finally done what Jack couldn't. On that final mission, Jean-Luc had made it back.

She'd never told him how that much that meant to her. They had never really discussed Jack Crusher's final mission. Jack's name could barely come up without a flash of guilt so powerful Beverly could barely handle watching his pain cross his face. So it went unsaid. Her gratitude that she had not had to bury them both remained in a very quiet place in her heart only to resurface each and every time he was in danger. Jean-Luc's luck had always been worse than Jack's. Jack could have crashed a shuttle in a blizzard on Rura Pente and landed in the one place with enough geothermal heat to survive. Jean-Luc would crash in the darkest, coldest corner but somehow survive through grit and the skin of his teeth.

She needed that now. Her fantasies wound her up, taking her mind away to a place where breakfast in his quarters suddenly included champagne and a chocolate based dessert that would have made Deanna jealous. She actually let herself wonder what it would be like to see him loose control and actually kiss her. What Shakespearean passion lay in those incredibly controlled lips?

Elizabeth moved at her side and Beverly barely felt the shift of the other woman's departure. It didn't matter really, the other woman had her work and she was just starting to get the fantasy right. She'd still be on the transporter platform. Will and Deanna would leave together. He'd stare at her in silence long enough that the technician, probably O'Brien, would get the hint and they'd be alone. She'd make a silly remark and he wouldn't hear it as he crossed the room and slowly took her head in his hands. It would be the most delayed kiss of her life, the quietest, slow-burning, most overdue--

"Beverly?"

The voice that interrupted her thoughts was distinctly not Jean-Luc's and she immediately resented it.

"Doctor Crusher?" The tenacious voice was Elizabeth's.

"Yes?" She tried to bury her annoyance and hang onto her ridiculous fantasy in the same moment. Both thoughts proved fairly slippery.

"Forgive me," Elizabeth said. The apology wasn't important. The look of sheer wonder and the amazement glinting in her eyes, those were what mattered. "I think you need to hear this."

"Oh?"

Elizabeth's small smile of triumph reminded her so much of Jean-Luc's explorer grin that her heart leapt and twisted in the same moment. "We're not sure. We can't understand the message. Our technology isn't as good as yours but I believe we're being hailed."

* * *

On the bridge of the _Enterprise_, reaching across universes through a feat of interstellar slight of hand he still wasn't sure he entirely understood, Jean-Luc tried not to fidget in his chair. Geordi, Data and Doctor McKay had put their minds together and found a small quantum singularity that could be used to bounce a signal through to the universe John Sheppard had dubbed the 'gateverse'. Jean-Luc's own universe was called 'trekverse' after a dramatic program commonly watching in the 'gateverse'. The names were crude but they saved a great deal of time.

Jean-Luc tapped his fingers anxiously on the arm of his chair and Worf hailed the city again. "Atlantis, this is the Federation starship _Enterprise._ Please respond. Commander Riker, Doctor Crusher, Counselor Troi, please respond. Repeat. This is the Federation starship _Enterprise._ We believe we have a way to cross into your universe. If you are receiving this message, please respond."

"Captain-" Worf's gruff baritone interrupted the heavy silence on the bridge. "Captain, we are receiving a signal. Radio waves."

Geordi shook his head from the engineering console behind Worf and crossed to examine tactical. "Old style, early twenty-first century. There's some distortion from the micro wormhole, but the comm is holding. Translators aren't going to work though. Too much time distortion."

Finally letting himself leave his chair, Picard straightened his uniform jacket and nodded. "On speaker."

A woman's voice was polite and controlled. Jean-Luc caught the word 'Atlantis' and wondered if it was just a distortion of his own message cruelly bounced through time.

"Sir," Worf reported unbidden. "The translation matrix reports she is speaking in an old Earth language common in the twenty-first century."

"Mandarin?" Picard wondered.

"English," Worf answered. "We may be able to program the translator to compensate for the time fluctuations of the wormhole but it will take some time."

"If you'll allow me, sir." Data offered. Jean-Luc spared a moment on the irony of a language barrier. To all the gateverse visitors, surrounded by Starfleet officers wearing universal translators, everyone on the _Enterprise _spoke flawlessly in their native tongue. Normally the computer could compensate, but with the distortion the initial message had been in Federation standard, something these humans had no knowledge of.

At Picard's nod, the android spoke calmly in the ancient language. "Atlantis, this is the _Enterprise_--"

"Data!"

The familiar voice cut through the bridge like the flare of a supernova.

"Beverly-"He nearly choked on her first name; the lump in his throat was so intense. "Doctor Crusher?"

"Jean-Luc," she sighed and the relief was palpable. He could even picture her glowing smile. "You found us."

"I hope you never doubted us," he said drolly. "Please inform Atlantis that we have a Colonel Sheppard, Doctor McKay, Mister Dex and Miss Emmagen who are all in excellent health and anxious to return home."

The female voice spoke in the background. Jean-Luc thought he could hear the relief in her voice, even though her words were unfamiliar. After a moment, Beverly translated. "Doctor Weir, the leader of Atlantis, says that's excellent news, sir." The last word seemed like an afterthought, but it suggested the shock of being saved had worn off.

"With her permission," Jean-Luc began. "We're working on a way to bring everyone home. We require access to their database, specifically the information concerning the Stargate wormhole phenomenon." He couldn't remember getting to his feet and hoped he hadn't jumped up too abruptly from his chair. He forced himself to stand still behind Data. "Can we establish a remote connection?" He asked the android while Beverly translated on the other end.

"Captain, Doctor Weir warns that the computer has a very large database," Beverly said after a moment. "It is also in a language called Ancient. I'll try to explain to her that our computer can handle it."

Jean-Luc waved his hand unnecessarily and chastised himself for doing it. "Thank you doctor." Turning back down to Data, he tried to formulate a plan. "Can you write an algorithm to search and download only what we need?"

Data paused then nodded when the thousands of complex calculations were done. "Complete, sir." He input it quickly into the computer and tilted his head before waiting for the involuntary facial cues he recognized in his captain's face as permission to ask a question.

Jean-Luc almost smiled and inclined his head. "Yes Data?"

"I find it fascinating that in the universe we are calling the gateverse, the myth of Atlantis was true and that an advanced race actually constructed such a vessel," Data remarked as they walked up to join Geordi and Worf in the rear of the bridge. "That is surely a marvel of technical skill. As is their development of slipstream technology and artificial wormholes capable of transporting them across galaxies. If it is possible to study their information in detail, Starfleet could learn much from their technology."

"I wonder if their evolution paralleled that of the Ikonians. The gateway technology would be similar. If we have time for scientific study," Jean-Luc replied easily. "I shall see that you have the opportunity to do so.

Allowing himself the luxury of hope, Jean-Luc turned back towards Worf and Geordi. "After we establish a link with their computer, can we keep it open long enough to get what we need?"

Worf's huge hands moved lightly over the smooth tactical screen before he brought his eyes back up to the captain's. "Remote access link is enabled, sir."

Geordi leaned over the science console and double checked the link. "Data, their database is almost forty times the size of the _Enterprise_ computer. Even if the wormhole data is a small fraction of the city's database, it could take days to transfer the data."

"I believe the algorithm to be sufficient," Data answered evenly. "Considering the impending attack on the city, I shall endeavor to speed the process."

"Data, contract Doctor McKay and have him assist you with the computer. He may be able to fill in some of the gaps and help you find exactly what we need to know." Jean-Luc suggested as he tried not to notice the two empty chairs in the central circle of the bridge. Deanna would tell him that worrying for the safety of only three of his officers was not enough to risk being distracted at a crucial moment. Worry would help no one. Will would be amused by a floating city or recount some anecdote of his last vacation on Pacifica. Beverly would have reminded him over breakfast that he would figure it out. Captains of the Enterprise always worked miracles and he was no exception.

Her absence was the most palpable. He'd eaten breakfast in his ready room instead of his quarters for the past three days because breakfast alone in his quarters was unbearably quiet. His only breakfast date with her had been Friday, the first day she was missing. She was supposed to have spent breakfast regaling him tales of her trip to Haguerean Eight. Instead, he'd had to stomach the knowledge that she was missing and that nagged him more than he wanted to admit.

"Still there?" he asked with more lightness than he felt. Walking back to the command chair kept his face from betraying too much to Worf or Geordi. Jean-Luc didn't think Data would understand, but he would remember.

"Hard to wander off in a floating city," Beverly's voice quipped back. "Doctor Weir thinks we're ready on this end. Don't suppose you can beam us straight through?"

"Now Beverly," he mock chastised as he pictured her in the vast floating city John Sheppard had described. "Where would the fun be in that?"

The radio hung silent for a moment and he wondered if he should summon Wesley to the bridge from engineering.

Beverly's thoughts beat him there. "Jean-Luc. If you can't- if we can't make it back--"

"Hey," he interrupted her sharply. "None of that."

"Will's written a letter to his father. Deanna has one to her mother and I-" her voice faltered and his mind's eye put tears in her blue eyes. "Wesley. I wrote one for Wesley. I-"

"We will bring you home, doctor," he insisted as firmly as he dared on the bridge. "Beverly--"

"I want you to look after him. Talk to him about girls. Make sure he has some fun at the Academy."

How many times had he been in this place with her? He'd brought her home when she'd been kidnapped by terrorists. He'd somehow managed to keep her alive on Minos. No universal twist of fate was going to keep her from Wesley. "Wesley will always be able to count on me for whatever he needs but Beverly, I promise you won't have to turn to me out of desperation. Just keep your chin up."

Geordi cleared his throat. "We need to terminate the radio link, sir."

He realized she'd heard Geordi when Jean-Luc heard her sigh heavily. "Doctor, I will see you shortly. You have my word."

Her voice was still shaky but there was more hope in it now. "Crepes tomorrow then?"

"My treat," he promised. The signal terminated with a innocent beep of Worf's panel. The blackness of the quantum singularity on the viewer felt that much more foreboding without her voice.

He took a slow breath before he headed to his ready room. "Gentlemen, I expect to that my breakfast tomorrow will be on time," Jean-Luc suggested in his most hopeful tone.

To his surprise, Worf seemed to be amused as he answered. "We'll do our best, sir."

* * *

It felt doubly wrong to have Will, Deanna and Beverly absent with John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagen and Ronon Dex filling their places. John was even sitting in Will's seat to Jean-Luc's right.

There were similarities between both men, he mused as he half-listened to Doctor McKay's very technical explanation. John certainly drew his fair share of admiring looks from the crew. He was more reserved than Will, his mock contempt of his position as a leader, covered his deep care for his team. Ronon was a warrior, honorable, quiet and completely dedicated to his mission to eradicate the Wraith. Jean-Luc couldn't help making the comparison to Guinan's feelings about the Borg. It was the same type of unflinching commitment.

Teyla definitely commanded his respect. Even as Rodney tried to out-talk Data concerning the 'gateverse wormholes Data was now an expert on, Teyla looked calm. Her serenity seemed to hang around her like a cloak.

"We will need some way to neutralize the Wraith vessel before it can damage anything in our universe," Data explained briskly. The lack of variation in his tone between the discussion a genocidal alien race and the modifications to the shields was getting under Doctor McKay's skin. So was the way Data had yet to react.

"Something big," John suggested grimly. "Nukes if you have them. Lots of those photon torpedoes if you don't."

Jean-Luc pursed his lips and considered their situation. Starfleet would strongly disapprove of his mission to rescue his crew but the _Enterprise_ was enough out that his subspace message describing their plan would not be received until the following day, far too late for them to disapprove. However, they did need a way to neutralize a Wrath vessel and the assistance of another starship would have been ideal.

"Mister Worf," he began when McKay paused for breath during a lengthy explanation of the Wraith's weapons capabilities. "Do you think Chancellor Gowron would be willing to test a few Birds of Prey against an previously untried foe?"

The dark Klingon grinned wickedly and nodded once. "I will contact him immediately. We are near enough to the Merota Four colony for several ships to be available."

Ronon watched Worf as he stood and spoke for the first time in the meeting. "Permission to go with him," he asked gruffly as he got to his feet. "I don't know anything about wormholes. I do know how to kill Wraith. I would be proud to teach that to Klingons."

Jean-Luc met Worf's dark eyes and then nodded once. "Granted."

"They better be enough," Doctor McKay warned darkly. "Trust me, the last thing you want is Wraith getting a foothold in your space."

"They're as insidious as the Borg," John Sheppard added. Surprised he even knew of the existence of the Borg, Jean-Luc stared at the colonel. "Except they don't want to assimilate you, or turn you into Locutus."

When all of his crew looked as puzzled as Jean-Luc felt, Sheppard got a strange look in his eyes. "Sorry," he shrugged weakly. "Wrong universe." He had a wordless argument with Doctor McKay that ended with a throat cutting gesture before Geordi gently took over the conversation.

"I'd like to suggest that we separate the ship and crew the stardrive section on a volunteer basis," the engineer began with a softness that betrayed the uncertainties he felt. "We're pretty sure we can swap the stardrive section of the _Enterprise_ in the same manner the shuttle and the puddle jumper were swapped."

"The space-altering dynamics of your warp field and the wormhole generated by the Pegasus stargate at that instant were enough to exchange two objects of roughly the same mass that were both out of normal space time," McKay explained impatiently. "Just like I've already said."

"However, the _Enterprise _is far too big to fit through a Stargate," Data added without sharing any of the human's emotion. "We are going to attempt to duplicate the effect using a precisely timed spread of photon torpedoes. Arming the warheads with subspace inverters tuned to the exact frequency of an incoming wormhole should temporarily extend the containment field of the singularity formed by the Stargate."

Teyla read the same dread on McKay's face that Jean-Luc saw. "If we are not exact?"

Geordi blanched slightly before he spoke. "Without the photo torpedoes to redirect our travel, the stardrive section will be forced through a circle approximately six meters in diameter. The reconversion of the ship from energy to matter will be like trying to stuff a shuttlecraft through a torpedo tube at warp two. We'll be duranium dust."

"Let's try to avoid that Commander," Jean-Luc suggested as he scanned the faces of his crew. "Mister Data, Doctor McKay, Mister LaForge, prepare to separate the ship and program the appropriate spread of torpedoes.

"Aye sir," Geordi replied. Doctor McKay looked like he intended to say something but a look from Sheppard silenced him.

"Captain Picard," the colonel began with gravity of someone who knew exactly what he was asking of strangers. "I know your people are trapped in Atlantis, just like we're stuck here, but I want to thank you. All of you, for risking your lives to save our city."

"Commander Riker would say it is all part of the service," Data remarked. After a pause he looked at the leader from the other universe and added, "Sir."

Jean-Luc wasn't entirely sure, but he thought Sheppard looked oddly touched. "Colonel Sheppard, I understand you're a very good pilot. Perhaps you would like a chance to handle the helm in a few simulations while we're evacuating the ship?"

Sheppard actually smiled and Jean-Luc finally understood why Guinan had compared him to Will Riker. "I'd love to, Captain."

"I will show him the way," Data offered with a slight inclination of his white hand. "Please."

The door of the observation lounge hissed shut behind the the four men as they left together. McKay's voice carried through the corridor for a few moments as he discussed the warheads of the torpedoes with Geordi.

Teyla had left her chair and stood staring out the window at the still points of starlight. Jean-Luc straightened his uniform as he stood and headed for the replicator. Ordering two cups of earl grey, he handed one to her as he moved to join her.

"Thank you," she murmured as she blew across the surface. "Were the situation reversed, John would act just as you are. He greatly admires you for that reason."

Jean-Luc smiled and realized that had been the reason for Sheppard's quiet agreement. "I cannot leave my crew behind," he offered simply. If Teyla had been part of his crew he would have guarded his feelings better, however, he couldn't help feeling that she would have known regardless.

"There is someone in the city he is particularly close to," Teyla began. Taking a sip of tea, she collected her thoughts with the hot liquid in her mouth before finishing. "You could say he has a personal reason to return."

Watching his reflection smile wryly in the glass, Jean-Luc wondered just how much time Teyla had spent with Guinan. "Just as I have a personal reason to retrieve my crew?"

She smiled with him. "I believe so," she said simply. "I will never understand why so much time is wasted by both of your cultures. On my world, feelings are too precious to waste on indecision or fear."

"Perhaps we've grown complacent," he offered in response as he tried to imagine living a life where he did not have all the time in the universe to find peace with Beverly. "We are rarely reminded how precious the time we are given can be."

Much like his own mind, Teyla's thoughts seemed light-years away. "Perhaps someday, my world will share that luxury."

"Maybe my people will learn to seize the moment," he replied. Perhaps even starship captains who had carried their secrets far too long, Jean-Luc finished to himself as he let his mind wander out among the stars. When his thoughts inevitably returned to Beverly, he allowed them to remain there.

* * *

It wasn't a puddle jumper, John Sheppard complained silently to himself, but it was almost as much fun to fly, even for something hundreds of times the size. The helm of the stardrive section was nearly instantly responsive and packed a maneuverability that the _Daedalus_ and other Earth ships lacked. The shields were sensitive enough to allow for wild dips and turns and unlike the perfect dampening of the puddle jumper, he could actually feel the Gs.

Ronon and the Klingon, Worf, had beamed over to prepare the crew of the huge green, hungry-looking vessel on the big screen in front of him, the IKS _ErethKul, _in hand-to-hand tactics. The Klingons enjoyed boarding enemy vessels, and Wraith shields had not proved very effective against transporters. Trying to imagine what Ronon had found to do on a ship full of Klingons was nearly as much fun as flying the _Enterprise_.

After he'd tested against the _Enterprise_ computer and the two pilots who had volunteered, John had been given the go ahead to fly the stardrive section into combat. He knew the Wraith and he thought he knew where to hit them. John went over the controls again in his head, keeping his eyes closed as he inventoried all the functions of the smooth glass panel.

Many of Picard's crew had been quick to volunteer, even when the stakes were raised as high as they were. Picard was keeping the numbers small, only willing to risk the personnel he thought were absolutely necessary. A small band of engineers and scientists, including a married pair of Vulcans who insisted that exploration of a new universe was the highest honor for them, Picard's command crew and one trainee were all that would be aboard.

The young Wesley Crusher had caused a certain amount of debate when he'd insisted on being allowed to go. The prodigy was supposed to be shipped off to somewhere called the Academy soon and his insistence on being part of the suicidal-trans-universal camping trip didn't set well with Picard. John wasn't entirely sure how he would have handled it, if the decision had been his.

The older officers knew exactly what they were signing on for. John knew the type who joined intergalactic spaceflights. They had made their choices but Wesley hadn't even had a chance to come home drunk at oh-two hundred. However, his mother was in the gateverse and something he had said to Picard had changed the captain's mind. John didn't want to speculate, he didn't usually fall into gossip but he'd overheard Guinan answering Geordi's question as she made the rounds with a tray of hot coffee.

Wesley's entire family was going on this mission. His mother was in Atlantis. Geordi and Data, both of his tutors, were heading through and the way he shared glares with the captain suggested that Wesley depended on Picard like a father. John wondered if his own father would have looked at him that way with the same mixture of pride, guilt and frustration.

"I can order you to stay behind," Picard reminded the young man gently.

"Yes sir," Wesley answered, pain evident in his voice. His shoulders were stiff and if Picard had made the request an order, John knew he would have followed it. Jean-Luc Picard was a Jack O'Neill, a General Hammond or, John's current personal favorite fictional hero, William Adama. He was the type of man who was a leader when it was most difficult to be. Wondering if he could do that, John pretended not to watch the end of their conversation.

"With respect sir," Wesley's voice was sharp as if he was trying too hard to speak. "My father would have gone. I think he would have gone even if I was staying behind."

Picard straightened stiffly. "Yes, he would have gone because he would have thought he was the best man for the job and refused to leave me alone until he had convinced me. However, he would have wanted you to stay behind. Now, if you were a child, that would be the case, but I find that is no longer the situation. As the adult, I believe you to be, I cannot deny you the right to choose. You will help Doctor McKay modify the torpedoes."

John wondered how old the boy was when his face broke into a smile. Sixteen? Seventeen? Teyla's people were considered adults when they were old enough to hunt and protect those weaker than themselves. She'd become an adult at thirteen. John wasn't sure he even considered himself an adult some days. "Yes sir, thank you sir," was all Wesley said before the door hissed and signaled his exit from the bridge.

Picard was seated in the center of the battle bridge when John let himself stop pretending to be engrossed in his work. "His mother may not forgive me," he admitted as he lifted his head from his hands.

"Remind her that he is exactly what she raised him to be," John suggested as he hovered near the first officer's chair. He didn't really belong there, he was much happier being at the helm but he sat for the moment when Picard offered the seat with his hand.

Picard actually smiled dryly. "I have no doubt she will be exceedingly proud of him," he agreed.

"Maybe that will distract her," John hoped. His observation earned a tiny smile from the captain as they watched Commanders La Forge and Data appear from the turbolift.

Geordi nodded once purposefully. "Captain, we're ready."

* * *

After he asked the computer, John found Teyla on holodeck three. He could smell the summer heat and the richness of the air. Walking up the hill towards a small house wrapped in the woods, he found her seated beneath one of the trees.

"We are on your Earth," Teyla announced without opening her eyes. "I believe this area is known as France. I am reminding myself what we are fighting for."

John grinned and offered her his hand getting to her feet. "Trees?"

She returned his smirk with a shake of her head. "Yes John, trees," she replied. "Has Ronon returned?"

"Sickbay," John explained. Looking around him, he turned to her quizzically when the path he'd come up seemed to lead right into a vineyard.

"Arch, please," Teyla asked the air. Wrapping her air into his, she let him lead the way to sickbay. "How was he injured?"

As they entered and found Ronon sitting on one of the biobeds, three nasty-looking cuts on his face, a bruised lip and a slowly blackening eye promised more bruises were beneath his clothes. The Vulcan doctor, Selar, one of the volunteers that was coming with them, was repairing the damage to Ronon's broken collarbone as the huge man grinned like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Training?" John wondered.

Ronon lifted one of the wicked looking, three-pronged daggers sitting on the bed next to him and smiled rakishly at it. "Cultural exchange," he replied before he closed his eyes to let her repair them. "When I defeat the Wraith," he announced with deadly certainty. "I have found a place to call home."

"More fun than Atlantis?" John teased and winced when Ronon removed his shirt and exposed what looked like bite marks on his torso.

"More women."

* * *

"Two Wraith ships are still incoming," Chuck reported apologetically. "No word from the _Enterprise_."

Elizabeth stared down at her white knuckles and sighed heavily. That motion of her chest did nothing to to alleviate the knot in her stomach. Someone, Airman Kirahoshi, pressed coffee into her hands, at her left Doctor Crusher accepted a cup as well. The other woman's hands shook slightly and they shared a look.

"First time the Wraith have tried to kill me," Beverly said. She sipped her coffee and smiled in surprise. "This is good."

"We do what we can," Elizabeth agreed. "Who else?"

"Who?" Beverly repeated before she understood the question. "Anyone who has tried to kill me? Me personally or me as collateral damage?"

Deciding she liked the sarcastic doctor's wit, Elizabeth watched the graphic of the two Wraith vessels close in on the city. "Either."

Taking a moment to think, Beverly stared down at her coffee before she stared a list. "The Romulans, the Borg, a flying robot salesman, the Klingons- that was a long time ago, a terrorist called Flynn kidnapped me, a disembodied entity possessed me, and once a crazy, psychopathic Android shot me. A crystalline entity tried to eat the ship, a giant puddle of black goo tried to kill me, Jean-Luc was brainwashed and attacked the ship with a relic. We tripped a radiation trap--"

When the list continued, Elizabeth actually started to smile. "How was being possessed?"

"Boring," Beverly mock-whispered conspiratorially. "I don't remember it. The time I was most frightened was when I was being held hostage by the terrorist. The giant puddle of black goo with a temper control problem would have been ridiculous if it hadn't killed one of my friends." She paused and grief passed over her face for a moment. Life-sucking aliens with a taste for raw human is definitely a new one."

Elizabeth felt the knot in her stomach twist become a living thing. "You were saying Captain Picard has excellent timing," she remembered hopefully.

Beverly gulped at her coffee. "A certain ability to work miracles comes with the job."

Exhaustion seemed to be fighting its way in from the edges of her body while nervousness reached outward from the inside. Neither sensation was pleasant and Elizabeth shuddered.

"Doctor Weir," Chuck's voice was a welcome distraction. "We're receiving another signal from the Enterprise, audio only."

The voice she didn't understand, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, spoke from another universe. Something in their translators still wasn't working and all Elizabeth could hear was the tone of his voice. His sureness and confidence sank into her like the sun on a pleasant day on the mainland.

"About time," Beverly teased him. The way her face became hopeful instead of simply exhausted suggested Picard had good news. "The Wraith ships are getting close down here."

"Less than thirty minutes," Elizabeth explained for her.

Beverly listened to the warm, intelligent sounding voice from farther away than Elizabeth had ever been. "They're coming. It's very complicated but they're coming-"

She didn't think she'd heard that correctly. "Coming?"

Reaching for Elizabeth's computer, Beverly traced a line of trajectory across a map of the galaxy with the stylus. "Can you create an incoming wormhole from three-nine mark one-seven-four mark two-five-eight? Or within ten degrees of that direction? The Enterprise should be able to arrive in orbit within a few moments of the establishment of the wormhole."

Chuck's voice interrupted her reply. "Doctor Zelenka says the Major's team needs to dial in from m-three-b, two-eight-eight."

"The dinosaur planet?" Lorne asked with a shake of his head. "How many rocket launchers can I take with me?"

"Two," Elizabeth answered with deadly seriousness. "Get your team together." Taking a moment to think, she bit her lip in frustration. "I don't want to pull Carson out of the infirmary for the chair."

"The chair?" Beverly repeated. Exhaustion and excitement made an odd mix in her voice.

"I planned on using Major Lorne in the chair," Elizabeth explained. Her hands fidgeted unbidden with her now nearly empty coffee mug. "I could move down the line but my people have less experience as I go."

Beverly seemed to understand as she accepted more coffee from the airman refilling the cups in command. "Deanna did quite well until we shut it off. Then we discovered the effect it has on her."

Even with the weight of the impending battle on her shoulders, Elizabeth managed a smile. "It really does make her drunk?"

"Psilosine and xerotolemine are the neurotransmitters you associate with the Ancient gene. Using the chair produces large amounts of both of those in Deanna's brain and they breakdown in her bloodstream." Beverly said with a trace of amusement. "Usually something like that would just give her a slight headache, but your Carson treated her with an opiate called codeine when we arrived. Deanna's not human, at least, not entirely, Her mother's Betazoid and their brains are much more complicated. Opiates and similar drugs have vastly different effects on her species. I've given her something to absorb the codeine. She'll be completely coherent if she ran-flew-controlled, whatever you call it, your chair device again." Her second cup of coffee had sharpened her tongue. Elizabeth couldn't help wondering if they even had caffeine in the future.

"Lieutenant Booth," Elizabeth requested from the commlink. "Can you find Deanna Troi?"

The voice that replied sounded slightly amused. "She's in her quarters with Riker, sir."

Beverly chuckled slightly and her blue eyes had a wicked glint in them.

Elizabeth watched even Chuck start to smile and suddenly realize how much of a mess she'd be in if she was ever caught in John's quarters. That thought was still one of her most guarded fantasies, but a precious one to her. "Can you wake them, politely, and request their presence in the chair room?"

Lieutenant Booth still seemed amused and Elizabeth made up her mind to ask Major Lorne about the young woman's combat history. "Yes sir. I will retrieve parts of their clothing for them as well, sir."

Chuck was biting his lip and Beverly was actually laughing at her side. "I'm going to enjoy seeing the looks on their faces. Not as much as I'll enjoy telling the captain."

Picard's voice, his gentle yet completely foreign words cut through the comm system again. Elizabeth wondered if he could hear the laughter in Beverly's voice as she answered his questions.

"_Enterprise_ needs us to signal when the wormhole has been established," she translated. "The captain would also like you to know that he will be taking care of one of the Wraith ships immediately and the other should be something the Enterprise can manage. Though any help from the city will be appreciated."

"I'll inform the major," Elizabeth said taking a step back and letting the other woman have a moment if she needed one. Wondering what she'd say to John if it was the last time she'd speak to him, she was almost disappointed when Beverly simply bit her lip and wished him luck.

* * *

"Major Lorne just reported in," Chuck reported from the communications console in the center of command. "It will take him approximately sixty seconds to shut down the wormhole and dial out again."

"Signal the _Enterprise_. Lieutenant Booth?" Elizabeth asked next. Her console showed the two Wraith vessels moving ominously towards them in hyperspace.

"Commanders Riker and Troi are in the chair room with me," the lieutenant reported through the commlink. "Commander Troi is in the chair."

"But is she sober?" Beverly appeared behind her, arms crossed over her chest. The lilt in her voice suggested she already knew the answer to her question.

Lieutenant Booth reported again. "She's fine but apparently the doctor's methods are worse than a hangover."

"I'll have to apologize when this is over," Elizabeth said nodding and trying to file it in her memory.

"Major Lorne is dialing in," Chuck reported a moment before the bright green lights started to chase each other round the stargate. The sight was still new enough to startle Beverly. Her hands gripped the rail looking out over the atrium. The first six lights lit up and as the last one locked, the sky above the city exploded.

"Wraith ships are dropping out of hyperspace--" Chuck's voice was swallowed up in a roar of energy.

In a perfect circle of bright green light, some kind of explosion, the _Enterprise's_ complicated plan blew a green hole into the atmosphere of the planet. Shielding her eyes from the stabbing pain of the light, Elizabeth brought her eyes to the display. For a moment, she saw two Wraith ships, bearing down on the city.

Suddenly, one of them vanished, popping out of existence like a bad dream while something else appeared in its place. Whatever it was, it was almost the size of the other Wraith ship but shaped very differently. Instead of the pointed nose and horizontal stripe of engines in the rear of the ship like most vessels Elizabeth had seen, this new ship seemed to be composed only of engines. While Wraith ships were like hulking insects and human ships more like boxy toys traveling through the void, this ship was a swan. It was mostly silver, a few windows flashed extra light but the most beautiful part were the glowing blue lines of the engines. They were swept back and up like they were meant to let her glide through space.

"It's beautiful," Elizabeth sighed to no one in particular. Chuck smirked slightly behind his station but she thought she could almost catch tears in Beverly's eyes as she nodded.

Beverly was keeping her eyes on the outline of the _Enterprise_. Her voice was wistful. "She really is, isn't she?"

"Doctor Weir," Chuck reported from his computer. "Doctor, we're being hailed."

"Atlantis," The rich, confidant voice she'd heard before was suddenly speaking perfect English, as if he'd grown up speaking it all his life. "This is the Captain Picard of the Federation Starship _Enterprise_. Your Colonel Sheppard tells us you're having a little problem with the Wraith." Beverly's relief only became more apparent as Elizabeth watched her listen to her captain's voice.

"Captain," Elizabeth finally found her voice. "We'd appreciate any help you can gives us."

"Elizabeth?" The new voice was John's. Suddenly, Elizabeth thought she shared Beverly's overwhelming sense of relief. Just hearing John's voice on the comm was like knowing he was back from the dead. "Good to hear your voice again. Can't talk now, I'm going to teach our new friends how to blow up a Wraith ship."

"Keep in touch," Elizabeth warned him with more concern than she intended. "Your captain would travel all this way, crossing universes, not just to save you, but to fight our enemy?"

Beverly smiled but there was something secretive in it. "Perhaps your Colonel Sheppard is more persuasive than you give him credit for being," she replied.

If the gossip of her crew was right about Riker and Troi, whatever the rules were in Starfleet, fraternization seemed not to be as strictly enforced. There was something more than simple relief at hearing a familiar voice in Beverly's face. There was something special about Jean-Luc Picard. If everything went right, Elizabeth had to admit to herself she was deeply curious to see what it was.

"Signal the chair room," Elizabeth ordered. "If they see through our cloak we'll need to raise the shields and deploy the drones as quickly as possible." She met Beverly's eyes one more time and tried to share her faith in the _Enterprise_. Whispering to herself, Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and glanced up at the clear sky where the great ship had appeared. "Good luck _Enterprise._"


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks for all the very kind reviews and your patience. _

"Keep your distance from the planet," Picard ordered from his seat in the center of the battle bridge. The space was more spartan than the comfortable main bridge, but John almost felt more at ease in the smaller, darker space. At the helm, he felt more at home than he had since the crossover had dumped him in this universe.

"Atlantis isn't defenseless, the city has a shield and the drones I mentioned," McKay reiterated as he hovered behind the tactical station. "The number we have are extremely limited. Atlantis' power levels are low, they'd have to run two generators just to launch a few drones. That puts a strain on their shield--"

Picard's hand shot up to cut him off. "We understand Doctor McKay, thank you. Colonel, I trust you can get us a clear shot."

"Aye sir," John said. Throwing the _Enterprise_ into a dive on Picard's command, he felt like he had been handed one of the best toys in two galaxies and allowed to take it out for a spin. Brilliant orange phaser beams sliced into the Wraith's shields. The _Enterprise_ shook under fire from the hive ship, shuddering hard to the right, but their shields held and John rolled her smoothly out of the way. Diving into another evasive pattern, he watched on the viewscreen as the bright red lights Picard called 'torpedoes' slammed into the hive's shields. As the explosions faded, he could see the dark scars of damage on skin of the hive ship.

The darts were a more significant problem. The _Enterprise_ wasn't prepared to fight ships that size. Their powerful phaser beams lashed out like fire hoses being used to swat mosquitos. John danced his fingers over the controls and swung the _Enterprise_ up, pointing the forward weapons into the underbelly of the Wraith hive.

Hives weren't designed to move and fight, which was the advantage _Daedalus_ had when fighting them. The _Enterprise_ shared that advantage, and even though torpedoes weren't as good as drones, apparently they were good enough to make a dent. As far as John knew, torpedoes could be replicated as well, which made them a hell of a lot more expendable.

Watching the android's hands move with ridiculous speed over the console to his right, John felt the _Enterprise_ dance in space to avoid the weapons on the Wraith ship. Wondering how they could combat the darts without smaller, more nimble, fighter craft, John tried to keep them out of the way while keeping the hive in Worf's sights. Jolting hard to the right, the _Enterprise_ shuddered again.

"Shields at fifty percent," Worf reported. "The forward shields on the hive ship are failing. The hive is moving, taking up position closer to the atmosphere. They appear to be preparing for planetary bombardment."

Rodney had to raise his voice to be heard over the din of battle from one of the rear consoles, "Atlantis has no ZPM, they can't take that kind of fire."

"Colonel," Picard's crisp tone cut through the alarms. "Bring us between them and the city. Mister Worf, all power to the forward shields, prepare to bring us in firing."

Turing the _Enterprise_ on her side, John took advantage of her superior stabilizing controls, they were much more responsive than an X-304, and let her fall into the atmosphere like a knife. Pivoting around to put the stronger forward shields in the line of fire, he felt the controls start to slow as the atmospheric friction caught them like a race car slipping into the mud.

The stream coming from the hive was a death rain of yellow fire and John dragged the _Enterprise_ through the atmosphere directly into it. The viewscreen temporarily whited out from the energy before the computer adjusted. Every part of the _Enterprise_ shook from the bombardment, as if the entire ship was shivering, and John had to brace his feet against the base of the console just to stay in his seat.

Something whined behind him, he didn't know what it was, but the keening sound only lasted for a moment until it exploded in a hail of white hot metal. John heard the blast and then the following thud as the heavy body of Lieutenant Worf flew over the tactical station. Unable to stand still, Rodney took over at the smoking tactical station. John couldn't tell if the Klingon was alive, but he had faith, from personal experience, in Picard's medical personnel.

"The hive ship's main weapon bank is a weak spot," Rodney shouted his suggestion over to the captain. "Targeting all your phasers and torpedoes there should overload their power systems. I know this panel, I can fire."

Picard had left his seat to check Worf's vitals. With his hand on the Klingon's neck, he made the order from the floor, "Do it."

The incredible power of the _Enterprise_ lashed out in a barrage of orange and red that turned the Wraith hive into a glowing ball of energy. Atmosphere from inside of the hive and energy leaked into space. Some of the air burned before it froze and John could see the tears in the hull bleed gas into space.

"Looks good Rodney," John called as he readied another set of evasive maneuvers.

Data elaborated with robotic calm, "The shields on the hive ship have failed. Their primary weapons array has also been destroyed. The ship is beginning to suffer from a cascading power failure."

John turned his head to flash her a grin as the Wraith ship finally went up in a ball of white fury. Shards of hull fragments and secondary explosions rent the sky of Lantea.

"Wraith fighters are running low over Atlantis," Data continued, focusing on the readings on his console. "Their energy signatures are fluctuating."

"They're landing troops in the city," Rodney explained to the captain. "They have transporters, primitive compared to yours, but they're effective at short range.

"Prepare to drop shields and beam down our assault battalion," Picard ordered as he started to dust himself off. "Doctor McKay, signal the transporter rooms-"

Wraith on Atlantis was enough to take the taste of victory away from everyone on the bridge.

"-The darts are turning toward the _Enterprise_," Rodney interrupted reported from the tactical station in the back of the bridge. Panic was buried in his voice, John knew only he could hear it. "They're increasing speed--"

"They go kamikaze," John blurted out over the rest of Rodney's thought. "Getting the hell out of the way."

"At your discretion, Colonel," Picard agreed belatedly.

John rolled the ship again and then dropped it towards the planet like a stone. Lantea's gravity wrapped around the _Enterprise_ and added speed to the impulse engines. Holding it until the last moment, John flipped the ship back up. Listening to the whine of the systems, he felt the maneuver finally outstrip the dampeners enough to let him feel his stomach sliding into his boots.

Wraith darts began to strike the _Enterprise_, pounding on her like cannon fire striking a ship of old. Each impact thrust them further into the atmosphere and his controls grew less and less responsive. John's panel began to smoke underneath his hands, the glasslike membrane grew so hot it hurt to touch. If he could just pull them up, get them out of the way, the darts would stop hitting them. Smelling burnt flesh add to the acrid smoke filling the bridge, John kept trying. Alternating fingers was cutting down on some of the damage, but his hands were going to be shot.

When the helm exploded, only Data's lightning reflexes kept him alive. The android's strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and tore him out of the way as the helm exploded in a hail of hot sparks and metal shards.

"Shields have failed. All Wraith darts have been destroyed." Rodney reported and now John heard anger with mixed with his panic. "The starboard engine-nacelle," he corrected himself. "The nacelle's setting off some kind of alarm. Captain--"

Picard circled the bridge and read over Rodney's hands. "We're losing plasma containment in the nacelle," he explained for Rodney. "Mister La Forge, report," he called towards the comm system.

Geordi's disembodied voice echoed from the ceiling. "I'm trying to shut it down," he explained over the din. "One of those darts hit us right in the auxiliary manifold. I don't think they knew, I think it's just dumb luck but we're loosing the nacelle."

"The containment field?" Picard asked and John realized how much he admired the captain's calm. The bridge was full of smoke, alarms were going off all over the ship, and Picard was steel.

John dragged himself to his feet and watched as Data flew the ship from the operations panel. Keeping himself from touching anything, he held his burned palms facing upward. John let himself take one look at the charred flesh, blackened patches on his skin surrounded by white flesh that was starting to blister in huge white bumps, and quickly looked away.

The engineer's tone darkened further. "Containment's holding at forty-two percent, but it's shaky. We made need to detach the starboard nacelle."

"Detach?" Rodney asked as he looked nervously at Picard. "I don't suppose you just hit a button and--"

"Unfortunately not," Picard replied quickly before he turned his speech back to La Forge. "Commander, can we take the time to beam down our ground forces?"

"I'll initiate transport from here, sir," La Forge said. "Captain, I'll keep trying to come up with something down here, but if the containment drops below thirty-five, we'll need to lose the nacelle or we're all dead."

"Understood," Picard nodded and surveyed the mess that was his bridge.

The turbolift opened in the back of the bridge and a woman in blue, the Vulcan called Selar who had treated them before, emerged and bent over Worf. Her hands were quick and Worf was moving his head shortly. John stood by the destroyed panel, watching the last pieces of the Wraith ship fade into the blackness of space. He couldn't even feel his hands. Without a word, Picard broke his momentary shock and gently dragged him over the Selar.

John had forgotten about the Trekverse's medical technology. Instead of the bandages he'd expected for weeks, Selar began to run a blue light over his hands and the damage to his skin began to fade away. It didn't even itch and John shook his head slowly in wonder. When his hands worked again, he turned to Picard.

"How long before we hear from the assault team?" John asked as he flexed his fingers gratefully.

* * *

Ronon was hunting Wraith and his blood pounded with the intensity of it. He'd been offered one of the phaser rifles, but preferred his own weapon. Teyla had accepted one, and had a bat'leth strapped to her back as they searched the dark corridors together. Atlantis had taken nearly as much damage as the _Enterprise_ and the familiar corridors of home reeked of smoke and death. They'd already passed the corpses of two marines and Ronon could hear the howling of Klingons in te distance.

The _Enterprise_ device in Teyla's hand, something grey called a tricorder that required no gene to activate, flashed once. Teyla had turned off the sounds to allow them better cover, and she silently caught his eye. Moving her hands quickly and silently she signaled that three Wraith were clustered around a small group of humans in the mess hall.

Ronon nodded and replied with a flick of his hand that he would take point. He lifted his weapon, stared down the sight and flew down the corridor, Teyla jut behind him like a shadow of fury.

The mess hall was full of bodies on pallets on the floor. Elizabeth had obviously turned it into a triage facility. Carson and a woman, Ronon didn't recognize her, had been treating the worst of the injured. Their guards, three marines, had already been slaughtered and lay in a heap near the doorway. The room stank of dust and decay, the only smell left by the Wraith. Carson was down, his rifle beneath the foot of one of the Wraith. That Wraith was starting to bend down over him.

The woman's arms were pinned behind her and one of the Wraith was moving his hand towards her chest. The woman wore black clothing, standard to the rest of the humans in Atlantis. She had red hair and there was a silver badge from _Enterprise_ on her chest. The Wraith's long grey fingers were about to slam into her chest to the left of the badge when Ronon fired. He kept firing until the Wraith dropped to the floor, smoking and dead.

Teyla's shot was more graceful and she took out the Wraith above Carson with a single, sustained shot to the head. The last Wraith knew his time had come, but he continued to hold onto the woman with the red hair. Ronon pulled the bat'leth, his time with the Klingons had given him a deep appreciation for the weapon, from his back and met the woman's surprisingly brave eyes for a moment.

He grunted the only warning he could give her, "Down!"

The woman's legs folded and she ducked her head as much as she could. The Wraith had to bend to catch up. Ronon's bat'leth sliced through the air and sank into the throat of the Wraith with a satisfying sucking sound. Black blood was in the woman's hair, Ronon had to reach down to help detach her from the Wraith, but she was all right. Her blue eyes were cold and terrified but none of her fear was betrayed in her body. He nodded to her, impressed with her courage.

Carson just beamed at them. "Thank you," he murmured. "It is very good to see you both."

Teyla's small smile was grim. She used the tricorder device again and looked up with a nod. "I am not detecting any more Wraith in this area. Carson, you will be safe."

Ronon nodded and swung the bat'leth back up. "Save lives," he offered gruffly as he headed for the door. Teyla fell into step next to him and they moved as one down the corridor in search of more Wraith.

With the tricorder, the new weapons and the might of the Klingon battalion on their side, Ronon was free to enjoy the fight. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and was sweetened by triumph. With his disruptor and the incredibly sharp Klingon blade, he could blast and carve Wraith back into the void they'd came from.

The Wraith were making their way to the control room, so he and Teyla moved that way. They collected others, first two Klingons roaring with the joy of battle, then marines. Scientists trickled in, finding safety in the pack like wolves. Finally, as a mass of bodies, they arrived in the 'gate room.

Elizabeth, Chuck and the others were pinned down around the control panels. One of the Wraith had used an explosive device and the columns near control were warped, part of the metallic railings scorched and bent. The computer consoles appeared dark and unresponsive. More explosives had stained the floor and walls; one of the stained glass windows in the back of the stairs had even shattered. Multi-colored shards of glass covered the stairs and added splashes of light to the dark debris.

Wraith ringed the control area but they were no longer throwing explosives. They were too close to their prey to risk damaging them. Ronon knew they preferred to take humans with as much life in them as possible. Today, he would stop them. The black blood running down the metal of his sword reminded him how much he would enjoy standing over the corpses of these Wraith.

One of the Klingons, Vehyrek, a tall female with a mass of dark hair that rivaled his dreadlocks, nodded to him. He would lead the charge. It reminded him of home and the awesome power of the Satedan commandos he had once led. Before they'd been betrayed, they had honor and they had been proud to fight Wraith. Ronon would take that back. He would make the Wraith rue the day they exterminated his people, even if he had to hunt the beasts one at a time for eternity.

The Wraith seeped in through the corridors like filthy vermin to be exterminated. There were five that he could see, all advancing on the humans in the control alcove. Ronon waited, knowing they had not yet been spotted by the enemy. One of the Wraith broke formation and started up the grand staircase. This was the moment to strike.

Ronon threw back his head, howled the Satedan promise of death, and charged. The sharp, continuous rapport of gunfire was soon drowned out in the rapid pulse of disruptor fire. Steel met with slimy grey flesh and the Wraith who resisted the energy weapons were hacked to death with gusto, cheers and cries of death.

Covered with blood, soot and the sweat of the hunt, Ronon bounded up the steps to the circle of computers and stooped to raise Doctor Weir from the ground. There was blood on her shoulder, and a more running red from a cut on her face. The explosion had injured her, but her eyes were bright with relief.

"Ronon, Teyla" she cried and looked past him to Teyla. The Athosian was also damp with blood, some of it red and Klingon, but most black. She smiled and ran up to them.

Teyla closed the distance to Elizabeth and enveloped the other woman in an embrace. Pulling Elizabeth's forehead down to hers, she touched the other woman's reverently. "John and Rodney are safe," she promised. "They are still aboard the _Enterprise_. They will arrive soon."

Elizabeth's expression moved between shock, gratitude and wonder. Nodding at Teyla's good news, she seemed to only now notice what must have looked like demons standing with her people. The Klingons were full of the fire of battle. They were clustering around their dead, holding open the eyes of two of the most seriously injured and howling as they watched them die. When their ritual was completed, some of them began to sing with the joy of victory. Most of the marines looked startled, but some were smiling.

Ronon's eyes fell on Vehyrek and he longed to stand with her. In the short time he'd known her, he'd found fire again in his heart, instead of only the cool certainty of revenge. He was still not leaving this galaxy until every Wraith was dead, that much was sacred to him, but not he knew what he would do when he was done. He would sing songs and drink bloodwine in the halls of the Klingons. They would raise the armor of dead Wraith as trophies, he would see his dead Satedan friends and family honored and he would be with Vehyrek.

"They are friends," Teyla explained as she led Elizabeth over to Vehyrek, Ronon and the battalion commander, a tall, grizzled Klingon called Geruth. "They are Klingons, allies of the _Enterprise_, allies of Ronon and allies of Atlantis. They have traveled far to win honor by slaughtering the Wraith."

Hearing Teyla's words set up another round of song, and she smiled at Elizabeth. "Their ways will be foreign to you, but they are good fighters, and good friends."

"I am Geruth, son of TimtKah," the leader announced. "I have come to join Atlantis and win glory for the empire."

Watching Elizabeth and wondering how she would respond, Ronon felt Vehyrek's strong arm wrap around his shoulders and her nails dig into his skin like dagger points. She growled low in her throat and Ronon realized she shared the fire in his blood.

"I am Elizabeth Weir," Doctor Weir replied as she copied the two fisted salute and bowed. "Daughter of Marianne and leader of Atlantis. Welcome to our city. Your presence honors us."

Teyla seemed pleased that Elizabeth had caught the meaning in her words and mimicked the Klingon salute.

Ronon felt Vehyrek pull him towards the crowd breaking into song and holstered his weapon. There was a time when he would have gone to the far reaches of the city and ran until his legs would no longer move. Now he could drink, sing and burn off the fire of his blood with Vehyrek. He could already feel the points of her teeth against his neck. Grabbed her waist through her leather armor, he returned her growl.

Nodding to Elizabeth, he excused himself. "It is good to be home," he offered simply before he headed down the stairs to join in song. He had a Satedan war chant he needed to teach his new friends.

* * *

The warp core, the blue beating heart of his ship, was stalled and comatose. Feeling almost as if he was watching his own heart lay still on the table before, Jean-Luc Picard couldn't bear to think of the _Enterprise_ being dark permanently. They'd saved their people and those on Atlantis, but the _Enterprise_ seemed like too high of a cost.

"Mister La Forge, tell me you're going to be able to bring her back?" he asked as he watched his chief engineer fold his arms across his filthy uniform. He imagined his own appeared was marginally better. With the warp core off-line, turbolifts were down to save energy and the trip from the battle bridge to main engineering had taken him through an endless series of dirty Jefferies tubes.

"Captain," Geordi's report began with a sigh as he wiped dirt and sweat from his forehead. "This is going to take a while. Starboard nacelle is shot, we're going to have to rebuild that half of the drive manifold from scratch, shields, sensors, communications--" he stopped halfway through his list. "We're running sickbay, transporters and life support of the fusion reactors. I suggest we evacuate almost everyone to Atlantis, if they'll have us. Replicators, sonic showers, all the good stuff's going to be pretty far down the list of what we repair."

"I have every confidence in your abilities to work with what you have available, Mister La Forge," Jean-Luc assured. What Geordi was facing would require nothing less than a miracle of engineering skill, especially with no spacedock to count on for spare parts and labor.

"We'll keep at it," Geordi promised as he surveyed the room again. "You beaming down, sir?

Wiping dirty hands on his uniform, Jean-luc nodded. "Colonel Sheppard would like me to meet the leader of the city," he explained. "Carry on here. Keep me upraised and Geordi? Good work back there."

"Thank you, sir," Geordi replied. His smile was tired, though genuine. "She won't let us down."

* * *

The soft chime of the computers went ignored. Doctor Zelenka was scrambling to repair the computers in the control room and parts for the large computer consoles had to be dragged up from the depths of the western pier. Even with the Klingons assisting, it was slow going. The computers chimed a third time and Elizabeth Weir had time to spend a few seconds wondering what it exactly the sound was. She was hoping desperately it wasn't an alarm she hadn't heard yet when the 'gate room filled with another sound she'd never heard before.

A shower of blue lights glimmered in the center of the room, like glitter caught in a gentle storm. The sound was almost musical and deepened in pitch as the glitter started to become the shapes of bodies. All the motion of the repair teams ceased as her people stared in awe. The glitter began to fade and the bodies started to have color.

The sound resonated through the room as it faded away. The group was led by a bald man in a red and black uniform. A semicircle of people clad in gold and blue versions of his uniform stood behind him, but Elizabeth's eyes couldn't leave the familiar men at his sides.

Grinning sheepishly in the center of the 'gate room, John's eyes ran around it before they found her office and remained. Even ten meters away, she could see the concern on his face. One of the large glass panels of her office had been damaged in the attack, and Elizabeth's feet crunched shards of glass as she ran across the catwalk. Running all the way to the stairs, she stopped at the head of them.

John looked just as he had when he'd left. The _Enterprise_ crew had kept him in his black BDUs and he could have been gone for an hour, instead of the days he'd been missing. He nodded to her as she halted on the stairs and held up a hand. "Elizabeth," he began easily. "I want you to meet some friends."

Grabbing him and hugging him as if she'd never let him go was inappropriate, but a part of her didn't care. She'd nearly had to declare him dead, again and her heart still stung from that. John stiffened when her arms locked around his shoulders. Like a kid being hugged by his mother in front of his new best friends, John accepted it but seemed almost relieved when she let go.

Beaming at him. Elizabeth realized she didn't care he was uncomfortable. Jogging down the last few steps, she hugged Rodney as well.

The scientist took the time to hug her back before he started to lament the state of things. "Some kind of grenades?" he asked sadly. "You didn't use grenades in command, did you?"

"Of course not, Rodney. The Wraith did all the damage here," Elizabeth clarified mechanically. The man in the red uniform was watching her with quiet dignity and she realized how rude she was being. Brushing her hand across the dirty black fabric of her trousers did little to clean it, but the gesture was important to her.

"My hand isn't that clean either," he acknowledged as he extended it towards her. When she really looked at him, Elizabeth saw the smudges of smoke on his face and the dirt on his uniform. His handshake was firm and warm; combined with the gentle calm in his eyes, he put her at ease.

"Doctor Weir, I presume," he offered. His voice was deep and dry but he carried himself with the kind of decorum that befit a head of state. Elizabeth felt herself straighten up and fall back into her familiar diplomatic training. "I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship _Enterprise_."

"Doctor Elizabeth Weir," she replied and wondered if she should mention the IOA or Earth. He had to know Earth, he was human after all, though human from another universe. Another place in time, where they'd built great ships and transporter technically as advanced as the Asgard. It was disturbingly akin to looking into her own future.

"I hear I have you to thank for taking care of my people," Picard continued and his grey eyes lit with a trace of a smile. "I appreciate your generosity."

Elizabeth smiled wryly at him and released his hand. Crossing her arms over her chest, she watched the way his people kept their eyes on him. "You came across universes to save my city and you're trying to thank me?" she asked.

"Seemed only polite," he replied as he glanced around the city. "It would be a loss to this universe if somewhere as beautiful as this had been destroyed. These are my engineers and my medical staff, perhaps they can be of assistance?"

Rodney tossed a broken piece of metal to the floor and shook his head. "I'm going to kill Radek," he announced as he looked around the room. "I'm gone for six days and just look at this place."

"Your Doctor Crusher has already been working with my medical staff," Elizabeth informed the captain as she shook her head at Rodney. "One of the marines can take your medical staff to our infirmary. I'm sure Doctor McKay would be more than happy to direct your engineers." She watched as Picard dispatched his people with a nod. It appeared that military hierarchy came with the uniform.

Looking around the mess of the 'gate room she sighed heavily. "It usually looks a lot better than this, but considering the circumstances, would you like to see the city?"

"Please lead the way, doctor," Picard agreed genially. "I hope my crew has been helpful to you."

"Deanna has an ability to interface with our city that is invaluable," Elizabeth explained as she started down the hallway towards the chair room. "Your doctor refused not to be allowed to help."

Picard's smile was amused and Elizabeth remembered the conversations she'd had with the doctor. Beverly cared deeply enough for someone that she'd understood how Elizabeth felt for John. Trying to picture the two of them, Beverly and this elegant captain, was entirely inappropriate but it drained the tension from her mind. She was only human and it was almost odd that so were her rescuers. In some universe far away, humans had the technology to roam a very different galaxy.

"Doctor McKay tells me this city is fifty thousand years old?" Picard asked as they walked through one of the undamaged corridors. His eyes took everything in and Elizabeth wondered how long he'd been an explorer.

"We don't know for certain when it was constructed but we know it was abandoned ten thousand years ago," Elizabeth answered. Trying to decide where to start, she drummed her fingers on her arm. "In our universe, the Ancients seeded human life. They were much like us in appearance and abilities at first but they ascended, became a higher form of life, and left the galaxy for humans. We're a second evolution, a repeat of the human form."

Picard's grey eyes were wide with astonishment but he absorbed the information well. "From what I understand," he replied. "We're not even in the Milky Way, these Ancients made a home in Pegasus as well."

Nodding as she waved open a door and led him deeper into the city, Elizabeth continued. "The Milky Way and Pegasus galaxies are filled with human life. In the Milky Way, a race of parasitic life forms called the Goa'uld rose to power by taking human hosts and enslaving billions. Here in Pegasus, the Wraith evolved and treat humans like cattle."

Picard's expression stiffened. "I've seen what the Wraith can do," he said. "Colonel Sheppard's demonstration was graphic but rather effective."

"Your galaxy is not like mine, is it?"

The man smiled gently and Elizabeth felt the granite composure with which he conducted himself shift slightly. "We've explored much but not all of our galaxy. Two hundred years ago, humans began to encounter other races. In many ways we were lucky and made allies. The Vulcans, the Andorians, the Tellar and humans founded an organization called the United Federation of Planets. We've fought wars, one even against the Klingons, but now we are allies. In many ways the Federation is a dream that spread through the stars and became a reality."

"A galactic United Nations?" she asked with an awed smile.

It took Picard a moment to find the reference in his memory but he inclined his head and returned her smile. "Similar," he said. "In my universe, humans are just a small part of a spectrum of varied species and customs that seem to be as numerous as the stars we study. Starfleet," he indicated the insignia on his chest. "Is the exploratory and military branch of the Federation and our mission is to explore the unknown. Much like yours."

He ran his eyes over the city with the same respect and wonder she'd had when she'd first stepped aboard. "This city is unique," he mused. "I am almost glad we'll have enough time to study it. Few things of this age and beauty are so intact."

They rounded a corner and passed another long line of windows out over the ocean. "I haven't asked about your ship," Elizabeth said. "If there's assistance we can provide, the city is at your disposal."

Picard's hand tugged at his collar and Elizabeth realized he was rarely in the position of asking for assistance. "The _Enterprise_ will require weeks to repair," he replied with a sigh. "I'm afraid we're going to have to impose ourselves on your city. Teyla assured me that we were welcome with her people if your leaders did not find it appropriate."

"There are certain advantages to having one's leaders be an entire galaxy away," Elizabeth joked. The IOA was going to go into crisis mode for a few days before they became greedy. The _Enterprise_ and her crew represented humans with incredible power and simply finding a way to negotiate was going to be a challenge. "I'll have the quartermaster work out room assignments."

"Have him coordinate with Commander Riker," Picard said. "Hopefully it will only be a temporary situation."

"We're a nice place to visit," Elizabeth teased as they rounded the last corner towards the chair room. "But you're not ready to build a vacation home?"

Picard graciously let her open the door for him and nodded. "Well said, doctor."

* * *

"It's called a television show," Will explained as he waited in line for popcorn with Deanna. His hand was warm on her shoulder and his presence in her mind had the same pleasure in it. "Think of it as an early form of a holonovel. It was wildly popular in the twenty and twenty-first centuries on Earth. Some shows developed groups of followers that congregated on the global information system of this time period called the internet."

Lieutenant Barclay nodded enthusiastically as he hovered behind Deanna. She'd been pleased to see he'd volunteered. A mission to nowhere was an adventure and though no one expected Reg to be the adventurous type, he was remarkably sanguine with this kind of being stranded. "They had campaigns, rallies, things called conventions," he added as the line shuffled forward. "They were very dedicated to their fictional characters and the universes they resided in."

"And we're in this show, this 'Star Trek'?" Deanna asked. Her arms were wrapped tightly around Will's arm and he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"Yes!" Will answered gleefully. His eyes twinkled as he pretended to leer at Deanna. His intention was simply to be funny, but beneath she felt the heat of his attraction. It tingled like a hand running up her spine. "You're apparently known for your chocolate addiction and a certain blue dress. The captain is played by a very famous Shakespearean actor and an actor actually got painted white every week to play Data."

Deanna tilted her head in confusion as she accepted a plastic bowl of popcorn from of the Lantean servers. "Somehow our universes are connected?" The interconnectedness of the universe as a whole was something she believed without putting real energy into the thought.

"Each of us has a fictional parody of the other," Will elaborated, taking mugs of hot chocolate and leading them towards seats in the long rows of chairs. "There's apparently a popular series of holonovels concerning the adventures of characters from 'Wormhole Xtreme'."

"It's not unlike this city," Barclay added quickly, tripping over his words as he continued. "At least, the second part, the first part is all about Earth and a team that explores other planets. The sequel, or spin-off, Pegasus Xtreme, is about a floating city in the Pegasus galaxy-but-uh-the uniforms are a little different."

Deanna furrowed her eyebrows towards both men. "Different like my blue dress?"

Will grinned and offered her a chair. "We'll see," he said. "Looks like we're going to be here long enough to watch both. Sheppard suggested we start with something called 'TNG', so we'd be familiar with the setting."

"I have been studying the phenomenon of Star Trek as extensively I could, given the limited resources available. According to the members of Atlantis I have spoken to on the subject, Deep Space Nine is regarded critically as a superior program," Data piped up from Barclay's left. "It is apparently set three years from our present in the Bajoran star system."

"Bajor?" Will asked as he stole a handful of popcorn. Deanna elbowed him and he offered to feed her in response.

"I wouldn't watch it," Deanna suggested as she snuggled closer to Will's shoulder. "Even androids shouldn't know their future."

"I have contemplated that scenario," Data answered as he tilted his head in thought. "I am currently trying to decide if watching the fictional program will provide insight into our own future and if that knowledge is inappropriate. Major Lorne was able to furnish me with a large number of written works, as well as illustrated stories, called comic books, concerning the fictitious adventures of not only our _Enterprise_, but also the _Enterprise_ NCC-1701, Captain Kirk's ship. It appears the missions of Starfleet vessels are a popular method of escapist entertainment in many forms."

Will leaned back and rested his leg on his knee. "We're going to have plenty of time," he offered with the forced cheerful tone he used when he needed to be optimistic. Deanna could feel his worry beneath the surface and tightened her hands around his wrist in response. "Six weeks to get warp drive back online and the method you used to get here won't work to get home. No stargates on that side to piggyback."

"I think this is the moment where you should indulge in escapist entertainment, sir," Data suggested thoughtfully as he indicated the screen. "You have 'nothing better to do' and require emotional fortification. Your character's reputation as a female's man-"

Deanna lowered her head to his shoulder and felt his concerns fade back into the background as embarrassed amusement overtook them. "Ladies man," she corrected. "Well," she continued primly, "I think this form of escapism should be very enlightening."

* * *

"You have to drink root beer," John admonished Elizabeth as he pressed it into her hands. "if you're going to keep talking about the Federation--"

"The United Federation of Planets is a representative democracy that spans worlds," Elizabeth interrupted him as she held the metal mug of root beer and stared at it quizzically. She didn't understand the significance and it would have taken too long to explain it to her. John just smiled at her and let her keep talking. "It unites species together. They maintain diplomatic ties with language barriers that make Mandarin and Arabic seem simple. They have energy beings, aquatic life forms, and creatures that defy what I thought were possible configurations of life, working together in a grand alliance of cultures. They explore the galaxy in starships, conduct elections where billions of life forms vote across light years of space."

Rodney's eyes widened in surprise and he moved Elizabeth along the line of snacks with a protective hand on her shoulder. "Everyone knows that," he said. "At least they should, what about IDIC? Live long and prosper? Red shirts always get killed first? I'm a doctor not a bricklayer?"

"IDIC?" Elizabeth asked sheepishly. Rodney just shook his head and clucked his tongue in disbelief. John wanted to shared his surprise, but he'd suspected Elizabeth had always taken little time for entertainment.

"Infinite diversity in infinite combinations," John explained patiently as Rodney just shook his head. "The guiding principle of a race called Vulcans. Pointy ears, green blood."

"I've just met two Vulcans," Elizabeth chirped as she sipped her root beer. "Selar and Teketh, she's a doctor and he's a xenobiologist. We don't even have xenobiologists. Captain Picard had to explain the term to me, at least, he thought he did."

"You both speak Latin and French," Rodney informed her. "Then you explained that you also know Mandarin, Arabic, Russian and the smattering of Lantean you understand. You can geek out linguistics later and discuss if his accent is genuinely from the northeast art of France." Rodney explained for her. He sighed and John watched his impatience fade into sympathy. "I read the Star Trek: Encyclopedia. I read fast, I remember things. It's easy for me. Captain Picard's background is in there."

"We have chairs over here," John reminded her as he steered her over towards the nearly filled group. "They live in an entirely different universe. No Ancients, no Atlantis, no Wraith, no Goa'uld. Gives them more time to have xenobiologists, stellar sciences, warp cores and holodecks. It's a kinder, gentler universe but you should see the kind of paperwork Starfleet generates." Shaking his head, he grinned. "Worse than the IOA."

"And matter-antimatter reactors," Rodney chimed in. "Commander Data and I have started going over the specs. If we could get our hands on dilithium crystals we could enhance one of our naquadria generators with antimatter capacity we'd be able to run a lot more of the city. If we made one as complex as the warp core they use to run the _Enterprise_, it would be nearly as good as a ZPM. The power conduits would have to be redesigned--"

Elizabeth waved him quiet as the lights in the mess hall dimmed. "The _Enterprise's_ computer core is being used to translate the Ancient database. She glanced at her watch and lowered her voice to a whisper as the voices around them started to hush. "Forty-six more hours of translation and we might be able to build our own ZPM."

"Yes, yes," Rodney waved her off and John realized he'd managed to put the possibility into his realm of the not-worth-worrying about. "Provided we don't need an incredibly advanced system or an insane amount of energy to power it. Acknowledging even the possibility of building one seems insane. Why don't we stick with 'we will know ihow/i to build one--"

The project popped on behind their heads, sending a beam of light out across to the blank wall of the mess hall used on movie nights.

"Shh," Elizabeth hushed him. "I'm watching Star Trek."

"TNG," John corrected her as he stole her popcorn. "You're watching TNG. Star Trek has the green alien girls, Scotty and Spock."

Rodney snorted and started to mutter how she had no idea who Kirk and Spock were, she'd wasted valuable time on other things and that she'd completely missed a cultural phenomenon that had changed science fiction and integrated into the fabric of society. John nodded to her and tried not to smile too much. His sympathies were with Rodney. Elizabeth should have made the time.

When the white of the projector faded to black and then finally became a star scape. Into that computer generated field of black sailed a model of the _Enterprise_. The familiar shape brought him back to long nights watching reruns as he dragged himself through his classes that weren't related to mathematics. The math was the easy part.

Patrick Stewart's voice began the opening voice-over and John watched Elizabeth's face set into her observer's look. She would give it a chance, he knew that much about her. He wasn't sure if he could explain why a twenty year old television show was important. He didn't even know if he could share how important it had been at the time. He'd been young, frustrated, and disconnected from his life. Somehow, watching Picard reason things out on Friday nights made him feel better.

Usually he didn't care if his friends understood the things he liked. Elizabeth was hopeless at sports and he'd forgiven her for that. He thought this was something she could wrap her complicated, diplomat's brain around. He wanted to share this with her. John watched her smile at the odd hairstyles and the old special effects. She'd understand that it was as much a commentary on their own society at the time. No woman would have been in charge of a international joint military scientific expedition in the eighties but, here they were, watching a fictional representation of their impossible reality. Elizabeth turned to him, smiling through the credits and he felt himself lazily smile back. He'd missed her. The Trekverse was nothing short of amazing and he'd missed her. He'd missed Atlantis, real beer and his guitar; more than those, he'd been acutely aware of Elizabeth's absence.


	8. Chapter 8

Beverly studied the reddish metal door to Jean-Luc's temporary quarters. There didn't appear to be any kind of chime. She tapped her foot impatiently for a moment and then knocked.

"Come," Jean-Luc's voice was quick and pleasant. He was obviously still awake and she could finally talk to him. She'd looked for him in the mess hall and hadn't been able to find him watching the fictitious story that so oddly resembled their lives. Wesley was watching the show with the others and seeing him had just reminded her how much she needed to talk.

Staring at the door, she tried to remember how they opened. It wasn't like the _Enterprise_, doors didn't open because she wanted them too and she couldn't just talk to the computer whenever she wanted something. She had to-what? Glancing quickly around the edge of the door, Beverlyremembered she was supposed to wave her hand in front of the blue lights on the side and kicked herself for not thinking of it earlier.

"Sorry," she muttered as it opened and Jean-Luc's confused expression softened into a smile. "I couldn't remember how the damn doors work here." Taking a look around his quarters, Beverly saw the view from his windows was spectacular. The static stars over the ocean and the moon at night was incredibly beautiful over the spires of the city. The romance of it certainly wasn't lost on Jean-Luc. He'd dragged his chair over by the window and was taking advantage of the view while he studied the large, cumbersome computer in his lap.

"Doctor Weir was kind enough to give me a computer with their mission logs," he explained as he stood. Setting it down on the chair, he looked around for another one to offer her and had to smile in apology. "Would you care to sit on the bed?"

"Maybe I'll stand," she retorted as she felt her carefully controlled anger start to slip.

Jean-Luc stiffened but his smile remained gentle. "I suppose I shouldn't offer you some tea?"

"I'm not staying," Beverly snapped and immediately regretted her tone. Jean-Luc was still politely standing between the window and her, but the door had closed and she was trapped with him. Stuck the way they all were in this alien universe, especially her son.

"All right--"

She didn't let him finish his thought. "Why did you bring Wesley?" Beverly asked as she lost the ability to stand still. Pacing helped her mind feel less chaotic, but she hated the way it was impossible for her to hold still when she was angry.

Jean-Luc set down his tea and folded his hands in his lap. "I gave Wesley the same choice I gave the rest of the crew," he replied.

"Knowing he'd choose to be trapped," she sneered. Feeling her anger boil within her, Beverly wasn't sure where it was coming from but she was nearly overcome with the desire to scream sense into him. "You gave a child the choice between the rest of his life and being with his mother, his teachers and the closest thing to a father he has."

"Doctor," he began as he stood and met her eyes. The calm in his grey ones was even more infuriating as Jean-Luc watched her. "Beverly, Wesley may be young, but he is no longer a child. Though he is your son, he is a capable member of my crew and I will treat him as such."

When she let go of her arms, her hands began to tremble. The motion was slight but the tightening of his jaw gave away his immediate concern. That twitch hadn't changed in twenty years.

Jean-Luc cleared his throat gently and pointed towards the dark stone tea kettle on the wooden tray on his bed. "It's not Earl Grey," he said as he motioned her in. "However, I would be honored to share it with you."

Keeping silent while she watched him pour the tea into a handleless cup, Beverly bit her lip and tried to figure out why her chest was so tight. Her fingers weren't the only thing giving her away. He'd seen her biting her lip and he wasn't going to let her leave until he was satisfied she was all right. Perhaps that was why she had come.

"Ginseng?" he sniffed his tea and was silent for a moment. "I've been trying to place it but I still can't quite place the top notes. He stared at the computer in his lap for a moment before he spoke. "Doctor Weir told me you've been assisting the infirmary here in the city," Jean-Luc began, gently handing her the cup. "Their resources are rather limited compared to the _Enterprise_ and she is profoundly grateful for your assistance."

The cup was warm in her hands and the unfounded rage digging up through her chest suddenly felt entirely out of place. "She's too kind," she forced herself to answer. "I haven't been that useful. Jean-Luc, the Wraith don't leave many injured," she answered with a shake of her head. "I put a few marines back together, chemical based projectile weapons are a lot messier than a phaser and they have a type of scanning system entirely unlike ours. Different technology is something I can handle. Of course, it'll be a relief to have sickbay back."

There were things Beverly couldn't heal in her own universe but few of them were as insidious as the Wraith. She'd seen many varied forms of life, even tried to convince herself they all had a right to exist, but Wraith? They literally lived on stealing life and, judging by the ineffectiveness of their attacks on Klingons, human life was their preferred source.

"The Wraith touch someone and suddenly you're autopsying a mummy instead of healing injuries. They don't just kill people, they turn them to husks." Beverly ran one hand nervously through her hair and just shook her head.

Before she brought her hand back to her tea, her fingers trembled. The motion was slight and if she'd been talking to anyone else Beverly could have blamed it on a lack of sleep. Jean-Luc wasn't anyone else and considering he hadn't forgotten what her behaviors looked like in the years they'd been apart before she chose the _Enterprise_, her year at Starfleet Medical didn't matter. He knew she was upset and that was why she'd knocked. Maybe she could get it over with.

Biting her lip didn't help her think, but she couldn't finish what she was trying to say. Jean-Luc's hand hovered over her shoulder and she could feel the heat of it before he lowered it to touch her. Beverly met his eyes and forced herself to hold herself steady. There was a time, years ago when she'd been able to walk into her quarters, look at Jack and say anything that was on her mind. Maybe she'd been young, foolish and naive. She hadn't known what was really out there.

Deep space in her own universe suddenly seemed friendly compared to this one. Human beings from a divided and petty Earth with projectile weapons, salvaged technology and luck, fought life-sucking aliens. The first life they'd found when they'd left their planet was evil, manipulative and controlling. Now she was trapped in this homogeneous universe of parasitic predators where humans existed simply to be exploited by whatever species got to them first.

Beverly dropped her head, letting the ache in her neck stretch out and down her spine. When she lifted her head again, Jean-Luc's eyes were closer. "Carson, Doctor Beckett," she corrected, "and I were doing triage. Mostly burns, blast injuries, normal casualties of a damn invasion force. Then the husks started coming. They're not even bodies when they get to you. You look down at one and wonder if the corpse is going to start to falling apart on the stretcher."

"Three marines were guarding us," she said when she couldn't look away from his face. "Carson and I thought they were over kill, that they'd be more useful somewhere else. I didn't even have time to turn around before the first one started screaming. At first it's shrill, you know they're dying, then their throat closes up and it's just like wind in the desert. One of them grabbed me. I've had close calls before. It's part of the uniform, isn't it?"

His hand on her shoulder squeezed and the itch that came before tears hit her eyes. Beverly blinked it away and sighed, sometimes there was no substitute for an old friend.

"I almost brought your son through so he could bury you," Jean-Luc said for her. "That's it, isn't it?"

Sipping her tea, Beverly forced herself to swallow. The bitter taste was almost as bracing as his hand on her shoulder and the heat soothed the tightness in her chest. "None of us belong here. These people don't even belong here. What kind of universe is this one? No diversity, no myriad alien races."

"No Federation," Jean-Luc added as with a slight nod. "It's a different world. They haven't had the time to look at the stars and wonder. They've been fighting for their lives against incredible odds and, astoundingly, they're still alive."

Leaving her shoulder, Jean-Luc hand's retrieved the computer from the bed next to them. "Their current governing body is called the International Oversight Advisory and it represents the first time several of their nations have successfully worked together on a space-based project. It's a bureaucracy, apparently they cannot be avoided in any permutation of the universe, but I read Doctor Weir's logs and see all the personnel from distant nations working together to stay alive. The human spirit and desire for exploration are indomitable forces."

Letting him refill her tea, Beverly stared at the dark liquid in the unfamiliar cup and wondered how long it would take him to acclimate to the blend. It wasn't the earl grey to which she was accustomed. Both Atlantis and the strange Earth she kept hearing about in conversation were unfamiliar.

After setting down the tea pot, he stood and crossed to the window. Looking out over the ocean below the, he folded his arms over his chest and stood silently in thought. Jean-Luc was an intensely private man, but she'd begun to remember that even he needed to talk. When he'd shared his mind with Sarek, he'd wept on her shoulder, and that experience had reminded her of his humanity. In his few moments of vulnerability, she was his sounding block.

"The _Enterprise_ is severely damaged," he said. Turning around as the explorer's light faded from his face, Jean-Luc returned a step. "I have no doubt she'll be repaired and we will find a way home. It may not be as quickly as we'd like and I find myself wondering what good we can do while we're here. The Prime Directive would seem to apply, anything we do will irrevocably change the course of this Earth's development."

Sitting back down next to her, he kept his hands in his lap as he continued to think aloud. "The Prime Directive was written for a far different universe. One where we had the luxury of believing all worlds had similar chances to develop. This is a universe of exploitation and unspeakable horror. If we can help these humans, in whatever small way we can, I believe we have the right, if not that responsibility."

"You've been thinking about this a great deal, haven't you?" she teased and dared to reach for his hand. Taking the top one, Beverly wound her fingers into his. "You know we'll support you, whatever you decide."

"I don't know if that makes it easier or more difficult," he sighed. "I suppose it's one thing to ask you to die, and quite another to ask you to live our your life in an unfamiliar, hostile universe."

Beverly started to chuckle and his expression immediately became puzzled. "Sorry," she muttered and tried to explain. "Yes, things here are difficult, but it's better than being stuck at the end of the universe, blown into bits dozens of times, or dying in that damn cave with you two years ago. Remember falling through that hole?"

The shudder that ran through him surprised her. Minos had been years ago and she didn't know it was still so raw for him. She hadn't been seriously injured since then, but that experience had been difficult and for some time afterwards, she'd had nightmares where she was in the cave alone.

"You know," Jean-Luc admitted sheepishly. "I had a series of rather unpleasant dreams about that cave for some time after that incident. I was terrified I was going to lose you."

"You did well," she reassured him with the warmest smile she could muster. "You got me out of there in one piece."

"I think that might have had more to do with luck than my medical skills," he teased her dryly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied lightly before she even knew what Jean-Luc was suddenly grateful for. "What did I say this time?"

"You've reminded me there are things worse than being trapped in an ancient city on a starlit sea," he said and his face softened. Something she didn't have the words for moved in his eyes.

Getting to her feet and moving towards the window, she looked out over the alien ocean and let herself appreciate the beauty of it. "It is lovely, isn't it?"

He let her question be a rhetorical one, but Beverly could feel him move to stand next to her.

"I'm sorry I came down here to snap at you," she said.

This time, he chuckled and touched her shoulder. "Glad to be of service."

Staring at his eyes longer than she usually allowed herself, Beverly felt something that hadn't bothered her since she'd come back to the _Enterprise_ itch in the back of her mind. She always returned to the _Enterprise_ for the same reason she came and she'd never had the nerve to tell him. She started towards the door.

"Beverly," he interrupted her movement and they both stood there in silence.

Turning back, she felt the itch erupt into a sharp epiphany. She'd come for him. She'd requested the _Enterprise_ once, and then abandoned Starfleet Medical because on some level, she needed to be with Jean-Luc Picard. Sometimes she tried to tell herself it was because Wesley had needed a role model and there was no man in her mind, after his father, who could be better than his father's old friend. She'd spent the first year on board trying to rationalize the fact that she'd needed him too.

"Yes, captain?"

"You're always welcome," he said and the current of vulnerability in the words surprised her. "Even if you just need a living target."

Taking three steps back to him, she kissed his cheek quickly. "Good night," she wished him and escaped into the hallway.

It was dark, Beverly guessed it had to be later than she thought it was, and the figures walking towards her swayed slightly. She didn't recognize the man immediately but the woman in the red t-shirt had to be Elizabeth. Trained eyes recognized intoxication and she had to remind herself that alcohol in this city was real.

Elizabeth pushed the man she was with into the wall and started to kiss him. After watching the man dig his hands into Elizabeth's curly hair, Beverly realized she had two options, that didn't involve interrupting their kiss: disappear down the corridor behind her which wound off into the blue darkness towards the unknown or duck back into Jean-Luc's room.

She nearly collided with him as he emerged from the dark red door. Putting a finger over her lips, Beverly drew him down the dark hallway. "We don't want to interrupt," she said as she pointed to Elizabeth and her companion.

"I couldn't sleep," Jean-Luc offered in a whisper. She returned his small smile and fell into step next to him. "Perhaps you'd join me for a walk?"

"Do you know where you're going?" she asked as they reached a safe distance from Elizabeth. "I think it was Sheppard," she guessed when Jean-Luc caught her eye.

"The Colonel didn't mention being involved with anyone," he replied. "And no, I have no destination in mind. Just needed to stretch my legs, your company would be appreciated."

"We don't always mention our involvements," she mused as they walked. "In fact, sometimes the emotions we never say are strongest of all."

"Beverly, that's a very poetic viewpoint."

Unable to resist taunting him, she put on a wounded look. "You sound surprised."

He chuckled and the sound was comforting. He'd never been much of a gossip but Jean-Luc had a weakness for indulging her when she needed to talk. All the years they'd been friends made it obvious to him that this was one of the times when he should smile and let her start confiding what she had learned from Elizabeth.  


* * *

Elizabeth tasted like beer. All the times he'd imagined kissing her, he hadn't thought of her lips tasting like hops. They only had cheap beer, but it had tasted like the good stuff because he was home. Atlantis was the middle of Wraith infested nowhere but it was home.

She'd liked the show. She laughed at Q's antics, shared Riker and Troi's amusement at the way they were portrayed. The first episode of any show was always a toss up, it wasn't a bad plot line, the actors were all reasonable matches for the people he'd met on the _Enterprise_. Patrick Stewart was as earnest and Shakespearean as he remembered.

Watching the old show left him pleasantly nostalgic, but Elizabeth was seeing if for the first time. She hadn't known Riker and Troi could share each other thoughts, or that Picard had brought the body of Doctor Crusher's husband home. She'd grown quiet and accepted a second and third mug of beer. Elizabeth rarely drank, but this time she'd allowed herself the luxury of intoxication.

She'd finally explained what was on her mind when they were out of the mess hall. The people of the Trekverse, Picard's crew, had crossed time and space for three of their own and a city of strangers. Self sacrifice she understood, but it was the Federation government she envied. In the Trekverse, alien races worked together, the greatest threats to humanity were from space anomalies and misunderstandings. It was a better world and they'd left it behind to help theirs. Starfleet had let them.

Picard had brought him home, Elizabeth had whispered just before she'd kissed him. He remembered kissing her when he'd been Thalen but this time it was only the two of them and the familiar taste of beer. Her fingers dragged through his hair. She rested her forehead against his cheek and sighed heavily before she released him.

"I think we're on the wrong end of the universe for this," Elizabeth whispered sadly. She sighed and pulled further away. John touched his lips, feeling the dampness she'd left behind, and watched as her expression faltered. "If things were different. If you and I were on the _Enterprise_--" She didn't finish and he wondered if she even could have.

"Good night John," Elizabeth finished as she backed up a step. "Episode two tomorrow?" she asked lightly.

Smiling softly, he nodded and felt the wall come back down between them. "The one with the Psi Two-Thousand Virus, you'll like it. Everyone gets drunk. People hit on people and Wesley almost breaks the ship."

"He said it didn't happen that way," John reminded her dryly. Watching the fictional representations of the crew from Trekverse was hardest on Wesley. The young man was brilliant but shy. It couldn't be easy being the youngest ensign on a starship. John knew how hard it was to be smarter than he was supposed to be. "The part with the tractor beam was exaggerated."

Tilting her head, she crossed her arms and asked, "Tractor beam?"

"Tomorrow," John replied as he felt the beer he'd had tease the back of his mind. "You'll like it. The uniforms get better, their hair gets better. Not Picard's, not that his is bad, but everyone else's. Riker looks better once he gets a beard. Troi gets rid of the dress,"

"I like it," Elizabeth said with her comforting smile. "I'm really enjoying it."

He could have kissed her again if he'd taken a step. John could have pulled her into his room, kissed her down onto the bed. His body liked where that headed and heat ran through him. In the real world, he nodded.

"Goodnight Elizabeth."  


* * *

Will leaned back against the grand staircase in the 'gate room and passed the mug of beer along to Zelenka. The scientist passed the mug along and it stopped in Data's hands. Will kept passing and Major Lorne kept filling them from the barrel they'd dragged into the center of the chamber. Teyla had found it in trade and apparently they'd been waiting for a good excuse.

Grinning up at the stained glass ceiling, he turned his eyes downward and studied the damage from the Wraith attack. Even with the scars of battle, Atlantis was ethereally beautiful and he was beginning to find it comforting. He'd found Deanna again in this strange place, and that made gave Atlantis a special place in his heart. Even if it currently smelled faintly of burnt metal, he doubted the _Enterprise_ smelt much better given the report of the battle he had just heard.

Deanna wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and kissed his head. "I am glad Starfleet changed the regulations for women's uniforms," she giggled and drank out of his beer. "Though I do miss the boots. They always made me feel more like a like an ancient seafarer." Shaking her head as she giggled again, Deanna realized what he was thinking. She was already tipsy. "This isn't synthehol."

"We don't have to work tomorrow," he reminded her as he grinned up at the stained glass ceiling. "The briefing isn't until fourteen hundred. Don't you think we've earned this?"

Geordi swirled his beer and nodded. "The ship's a mess," he sighed over the clip of his mug. "We couldn't have the briefing on the _Enterprise_ even if we wanted to."

"We will be successful in repairing this section of the _Enterprise_," Data offered optimistically and Will realized how grateful he was to have his family around him again, even if it meant they were all trapped. "Although, it will take some time."

"They got your speech right on the 'show'," Will teased and listened as Geordi started to chuckle near his feet.

"I forgot how funny you looked before the beard," the engineer poked back.

Deanna was little help. Reaching down to ruffle his beard, she grinned wickedly. "It does make him look more professional, doesn't it?"

Data inclined his head and passed Geordi the bowl of chips. "In many cultures a beard is a sign of virility and strength, particularly in Klingon tradition," he volunteered.

"Where is Worf?" Geordi asked as he took a handful of chips.

"On the mainland," Lorne said. The major refilled Will's beer and handed it to Deanna. His imzadi taunted him with the cup and Will could feel the contentment radiate in her mind. He was with her and he was meant to be.

"The Klingons and the Athosians are on the mainland celebrating their victory," Rodney finished. "There are nearly as many Satedan and Athosian rituals for victory as there are for Klingons." Finishing his beer, he plunked down the cup and sighed. "I'm sorry about your ship."

"The _Enterprise_ is tough," Will said. "We'll get her back."

"And then what?" Geordi wondered aloud. Will was sure all of them were thinking the same thing. Deanna's brush across his mind was more apparent than usual because of her growing level of intoxication. She was in his head looking for comfort. The _Enterprise_ was here and she had brought their family. Will's confidence in the situation had changed when he'd seen the _Enterprise_ appear on the hologram in the chair room.

"We find a way to return to our own universe," Data answered simply. Lying back on the floor, he imitated the position of Zelenka's hands as he crossed them over his chest and stared up at the sky. "Though it is an improbable and daunting task."

"Let's save this for the briefing," Will suggested as he took a long drink of his beer. "We can worry about where we are and how we're going to get home tomorrow. For the moment, we have beer, we have good company and we have a hell of a view."

"Should see it from the top," Rodney said as he tossed pieces of popcorn from one bowl to the other. . Will could hear the intoxication in his voice and wondered if it was obvious in his own. "From the spire you can see halfway across the planet. it's all ocean though, so there isn't that much to see. Unless you like ocean."

"Only with the right company," Lorne teased with a pointed look at Deanna. Will started to chuckle. The major's dry sense of humor had remained buried until his second beer, the revelation that Will and Deanna were sleeping together and it was acceptable to discuss it in public. Watching Lorne take another sip, Will returned his smile.

"You're lucky you know," Lorne taunted. "In my space-Air-Force, we still have frat laws."

"Maybe you should have studied your algebra just a bit harder and been a physicist," Doctor McKay prodded as he popped open another bag of chips and dumped them noisily into the bowl at his feet. "We can date whomever we like."

"Ah," Lorne retorted. "Will they date you?"

"Starfleet has never had strict fraternization policies," Data explained and saved McKay from coming up with a witty retort.. "It is generally accepted that dating on directly in the line of command requires a certain delicacy. As head of the science departments, I would need to take great care in a relationship with a head of a science section, such as Stellar Cartography. However, were I to become romantically involved with Commander La Forge, or Lieutenant Barclay, who are both in a different section, it would be less complicated."

"Ah," Lorne answered with a shake of his head. "We have rules against that too."

Riker looked from the mildly uncomfortable look on Doctor McKay's face to the bemused smile on the major's and wondered how pervasive homophobia still was on this Earth.

"They dumped that rule when the Third World War started," Geordi volunteered before Data could launch into another history lesson. "At least their desperation to fill the ranks was good for something."

As Data and Geordi explained the Third World War, Will's attention was drawn away. Deanna tilted her head slightly as if she was trying to find the memory from a lifetime ago. They'd worried about being on the same ship when they'd first found each other again and it had taken this strange city for them to realize they were stronger together than apart. Feeling her brush along his mind, he grinned and squeezed her shoulder.

Will saw the crumpled plastic that had held the chips crash into the back of the major's head and both men started to laugh. Deanna's head slid along his arm before she rested it on his shoulder. Kissing his cheek, she wound her arms tighter around him and sighed happily.

"Do you remember when the captain broke out that bottle of Chateau Picard to commemorate our first year on the _Enterprise_?" she whispered into his ear. "When you and I ended up in your quarters with that jug of Saurian brandy?"

Feeling amusement radiate through his chest, he nuzzled her cheek and replied, "First time I went hungover to my own staff meeting." The heat of her body against his shoulders was a pleasant contrast to the cool metal of the stairs. Her skin would be warmer in his bed when they eventually retired there. He'd have the scent of her all around him and, more importantly, Will would have her in his mind as he fell asleep.

Her presence was like a curtain hanging between the sanctity of his mind and his experience of the rest of the universe. Deanna's touch fluttered with her emotional state, buffeted occasionally by his own surges of emotion, but omnipresent. Being human gave him no frame of reference for what it must be like to be a true telepath, but he imagined it was something similar. Somehow Deanna was between him and reality, and his connection with her was only one breath shy of her being part of his soul.

His feelings were as varied as the colors in the stained glass windows above him. Will couldn't focus on his sense of displacement nor his ever deepening attachment to Deanna. All of his thoughts seemed determined to exist simultaneously in his head and for the moment his beer was keeping them manageable.

Sensing his unease, Deanna rested her lips against his forehead and nudged his mind towards happier thoughts. Sharing the contentment of the minds of the city with him, she coaxed up a dominant feeling and Will let it over take him. His career prospects in this strange universe, the best way he could advise the captain, wether or not his father would even try to find him-- all of those thoughts could wait beneath the warmth of the moment.

* * *

  
Amused by the similarity of turbolifts to their transporters, Elizabeth sighed in sympathy when she arrived on the battle bridge and the turbolift opened for her. She'd heard the _Enterprise_ had been damaged. The mess of the control room had been weighing heavily on her mind, but much of that damage had been superficial. She didn't know much about the _Enterprise_, however, she knew what a war zone looked like.

Elizabeth guessed it had been utilitarian, unlike the beautiful curves of the main bridge, this space seemed to be more angular. The chair in the center was alone instead of flanked by the other two. One of the cross beams had fallen down, and pieces of metal and ash crunched under her feet as she stepped out of the clean turbolift.

Hearing the sound of debris being moved, she peered in and saw Captain Picard tossing bits of metal into a small cart. Watching curiously, she smiled and noted that cleaning up hadn't changed much in three hundred years.

Picard had rolled up the sleeves of his red uniform and the dusty arms beneath were lean. Clearing her throat, Elizabeth drew his attention away from a dark, battered console. "I'm sorry to intrude," she began. "Your Mr. La Forge brought-beamed me up and explained how I could use your computer to find you. It-she-" she paused for a moment and tried to decide how one addressed a computer that spoke. "The computer said you were on the battle bridge."

"It usually looks much neater," Picard answered with a sigh of apology. "I don't think I refer to the computer as anything but computer," he answered her pause as if he had heard the question. "I believe some captain's refer to their as the name of the vessel, but I'd feel a little odd asking the _Enterprise_ for a cup of tea."

"Have your replicators been repaired?" Elizabeth asked, surprised that such progress had been made so quickly. She watched the captain smile and nodded once. "I suppose our food isn't what you are accustomed to."

"It is far superior than our emergency rations," he explained gracefully. "The spirit with which a meal is shared often adds to the taste." Rubbing his hands on the black legs of his uniform, he frowned at the dust he left behind but smiled when he noticed her watching him. "It's unsettling to see the _Enterprise _like this," Picard explained. "I came up here to think and ended up being unable to stop myself from cleaning up."

Elizabeth smirked in response and squatted to grab the edge of a larger chunk of what had been the wall. He bent down and took the other side and they moved it over out of the way together.

"I was kicked out of my control room by a set of rather grumpy scientists," she explained as he pointed out another piece she could assist with. "The relaxed discipline of last night's celebration didn't sit well with them."

Picard raised an eyebrow and Elizabeth grunted as they dropped the heavier piece of the side. He gathered some smaller pieces of debris in his hands and dumped them into the cart with a puff of dust.

"What happens to this? Can you melt it down?"

"It's part of our replicator system," Picard explained patiently dusting his hands off again before he went back to work. "Matter is reclaimed and used to form new matter."

"Deck plate today, cup of tea tomorrow?" Elizabeth quipped and wiped a dusty hand across her face. If she left a mark, he was too polite to mention it.

"Something to that effect."

"How are your crew finding their rooms?" she asked politely after a silence. "I know we're not the _Enterprise_, we don't have holodecks and this city has some of the oddest beds."

Picard stopped replacing a broken panel on the wall and turned back to her, arms folded thoughtfully over his chest. "Doctor Weir," he began. "In my century, it's very bad manners to critique what is given to you. On Hunru Six, I was given the gift of a bed in freshly spun spider silk, an honor traditionally reserved for royalty that they extended to the visiting away team. Had I hair during that incident, I would have woken up entirely tangled."

The anecdote lightened her guilt and made her smile, as was his intent. Elizabeth toyed with the leather band of her watch and tried to relax. "Do you usually get such welcoming receptions?"

"First contact is one of my favorite and most sacred duties," he answered. Picard gestured at the panel behind the center seat. "If we can clear this off, I might be able to restore power to tactical."

Following him, Elizabeth helped brush metal and ash from the smooth surface of the console. Instead of the white of the Lantean consoles, this was jet black and smooth like stone. He retrieved a case from the back of the battle bridge and next down once they had cleared an area.

"First contact?"

"Something I imagine you handle every day," he offered genially. "The first time our people make contact with a new species. When we actually speak face to face, I have the very great privilege of being one of the first to experience their culture."

"Also the greater responsibility of dealing with the situation, should something go wrong," she added. Elizabeth had felt that responsible keenly over her time in Atlantis. She still wondered if there was some way she could have better handled the Genii so they could be allies instead of the cool standoff. "I was asked to drink the blood of a mare fermented with mare's milk in upper Mongolia. It's vaguely pink with white curds floating in it." The dust from the metal made her hands gritty, the air smelled metallic and unfamiliar. As if the metal were one she had never been exposed to.

"How did it taste?"

"Like blood but chewy, with a vodka chaser," Elizabeth shuddered at the memory and he seemed slightly amused by her grimace. "I kept it down though, the ambassador didn't and it very nearly became a diplomatic incident."

Picard's smile was genuine and something Elizabeth found very pleasant. "You should visit the Klingon homeworld," he suggested cheerfully. "Seems like you have the stomach to fit right in."

Pushing the cart full of scrap over to the turbolift with him, she tried to guess what the Klingon homeworld would look like and found herself genuinely puzzled by the thought. Picard stared at the empty wall beside the lift and then turned back to her thoughtfully.

"On the main bridge hangs a plaque dedicating the _Enterprise_ to a journey of exploration," he explained as he stared past her at the blank wall in the front of the bridge. "I find I miss it now that it's in the other universe however, I believe we have that in common, you and I for example, and more importantly, our peoples."

"We boldly go where no one has gone before?" Elizabeth quipped as she followed his eyes to the screen. "It was on your show," she explained smugly. "Patrick Stewart does a lovely impression of you."

Picard chuckled softly and met her gaze as her turned to face her, he studied her for a moment and began, "So I am told." He gestured to the turbolift. "We should be getting down to the briefing. I've been studying my entertainment. There is a piece of science fiction in the holodeck database called 'Pegasus Xtreme' and though the holodecks are down and I haven't had the pleasure of playing it first hand, I was able to read the opening speech of one Doctor Victoria Weir."

"Victoria?" Elizabeth asked in surprise.

"Apparently one British queen is as good as another," he mused with a shrug. "I looked up this Patrick Stewart and found out he's British. My mother would turn in her grave if she knew."

"Perhaps they were just looking for poise," she teased him as they made their way into the transporter room. Stepping up to the pad as he moved to set the controls, Elizabeth found him paused, with his hand over the panel.

Picard turned thoughtful again, and then he began to quote, "'I hope we all return one day having discovered a whole new realm of humanity to explore, but as all of you know, we may never be able to return home.'"

Elizabeth recognized her words and felt a chill run up her spine. He was a man from another universe, that whole new realm of humanity she had so idealistically wished to discover, and unlike the Wraith and Goa'uld, these people were in space simply to see what was out there. So was she and he was the first person she'd met who truly understood that part of her soul.

"It's not going to be easy," she told him as he tapped the controls. "My government's notoriously difficult. The IOA is worse. There's parasites who call themselves gods and religious fanatics who want to spread one faith across galaxies and murder anyone who doesn't agree with them."

Picard's boots made a soft sound on the glass as he stepped up next to her. "I can raise you murderous cyborgs bent on the enslavement of all sentient life and a race of omnipotent beings who take delight in tormenting all they come in contact with."

"Captain-"

"Jean-Luc, please-"

"I think this is going to be fun."

The transporter began to whine and Elizabeth grinned and waited for the tickling blue lights to envelop her. John had been right about transporters, they were truly incredible on the inside, like being wrapped up in glitter, a snowstorm and fireflies all at the same time.

"Try saying that after the staff meeting with our hungover crews," he said, feigning dismay.

"I think we'll manage," she replied as the transporter pulled them in and whisked them back to Atlantis.


End file.
